Ll 

UN   •;  -       '    OF 
CAi 
SANTA  CRUZ 


THE  ARMY  WITH  BANNERS 


THE 
ARMY  WITH   BANNERS 

•  !••«••  ^, 

A  Divine  Comedy  of  This  Very  Day,  in  Five 
Acts,  Scene  Individable,  Setting  Forth  the 
Story  of  a  Morning  in  the  Early  Millennium 

BY 

CHARLES  RANN  KENNEDY 


Who  is  she  that  looketh  forth  as  the 
morning,  fair  as  the  moon,  clear  as 
the  sun  and  terrible  as  an  army  with 
banners  ? 

SONG  OF  SOLOMON 


NEW  YORK 

B.  W.  HUEBSCH 

MCMXIX 


COPYRIGHT,  1919 
BY  CHARLES  RANN  KENNEDY 

All  stage,  recitation,  publication,  translation  and 

other  rights  reserved.     Application  should 

he  made  to  B.  W.  Huebsch 


PRINTED   IN   THE    UNITED    STATES   OF   AMERICA 


ps 


TO 

M.  F.  B. 


'YOU  ARE  THE  FLOWER  AND 

LOVELINESS  OF  ALL  THB 

BLOSSOMING  MAYS!" 


"  The  Army  with  Banners  "  was  written  during  the 
summer  of  1917 ;  and  produced  at  the  Theatre  du  Vieux 
Colombier,  New  York  City,  on  April  9th,  1918. 


THE  SCENE 

THE  SCENE  is  the  HALL  of  a  Gothic  Building  of  the 
thirteenth  century,  formerly  a  nunnery,  now  con- 
verted into  an  Orphanage.  Below,  it  is  bathed 
in  clear  but  sunless  daylight:  the  vaultings 
above,  losing  themselves  in  palpitating  shadows. 

On  the  left  is  a  large  Mullioned  Window,  looking  East. 

At  the  back  are  two  pointed  Doors.  The  westerly  one 
leads  to  the  Scullery  and  Kitchens :  the  easterly, 
to  the  Refectory.  Between  them,  a  broad  stone 
Stairway  ascends  to  a  Gallery,  dominated  by 
a  lofty  Stained  Glass  Window,  representing  the 
Angel  of  the  Resurrection  in  sombre  amber 
lights.  Exits  may  be  made  from  both  sides  of 
the  gallery. 

On  the  right  is  a  gaunt  Fireplace,  the  fire  being  lighted. 

A  Lectern,  guarded  by  two  tall  Candelabra  and  pro- 
vided with  a  Bible,  stands  by  the  eastern  pillar 
of  the  stairway.  Of  other  furniture,  there  is 
little.  A  carved  Table  in  the  window :  upon  it, 
an  Alms-dish  and  a  Bowl  of  Roses.  A  Chair 
near  the  middle  of  the  Hall.  Above  the  fire- 
place, a  High-backed  Bench:  below  it,  a 
Faldstool.  All  of  these  are  in  strict  thirteenth 
century.  Only  one  really  modern  note  may  be 
found  in  the  place.  It  stands  by  the  western 
pillar  of  the  stairway,  opposite  the  Bible.  It  is 
a  Talking  Machine. 


PERSONS  OF  THE  PLAY 

MARY  BLISS,  A  Poor  Fool 

JULIA  MANNERS,  A  Lady  of  Good  Motives 

JOB  LIMP,  A  Man  of  the  Past 

TIMOTHY  HODGE,  A  Man  of  the  Present 

TOMMY  TRAIL,  A  Man  of  the  Minute 

POMEROY  WRAGG,  A  Man  of  Almost  any  Time 

DAFTY,  A  Man  Out  of  Time  Altogether 

THE  PLACE 

An  Orphanage 

THE  TIME 

rAt  the  Coming  of  the  Lord 


THE 
ARMY  WITH  BANNERS 

THE  FIRST  ACT 

As  the  Curtain  rises,  the  Hall  is  empty.  The  laugh- 
ter of  children  sounds  from  a  distant  part  of  the  Or- 
phanage. A  dock  strikes  nine,  and  silence  ensues. 

The  two  doors  fly  open  simultaneously.  TIMOTHY 
HODGE  appears  from  the  Refectory:  from  the  Scullery, 
JOB  LIMP.  TIMOTHY  is  corpulent  and  pasty,  with  red 
hair  and  an  acquiescent  smirk:  JOB,  scrag  with  a  bitter 
eye.  They  are  dressed  accordingly;  and  belong  in 
their  respective  ways  to  the  loftier  classes. 

They  hurry  forward,  and  bump  in  the  middle  of  the 
Hall.  ' 

LIMP.     Extravagance !     Did  you  find  anything? 

HODGE.     The  entire  Orphanage  got  up  like  one  of 
them  Catholic  carnivals.     Advent  Sunday,  they 
said.     And  the  kids  all  coming  in  from  Mass, 
[i] 


Mass,  mind  you !  And  then  we  call  ourselves 
a  decent  protestant  country. 

LIMP.     It's  this  everlasting  pampering. 
HODGE.     It's  popery. 

LIMP.  The  woman's  a  fool.  And  he's  the  devil  him- 
self. 

He  gestures  savagely  towards  the  Scul- 
lery. 

Did  you  see  her? 

HODGE.  What !  Let  her  nab  hold  of  me  alone,  be- 
fore you  others.  .  .  .  Not  much !  You  know 
what  she  is. 

This  provokes  LIMP  to  a  bitter  snort. 

Course,  I  believe  in  the  higher  education,  my- 
self. Didn't  I  build  the  Baptist  Young  Peo- 
ple's Self-Improvement  Institution?  Only,  it 
don't  all  seem  proper  to  me,  somehow.  Did 
you  see  him? 

LIMP.  Him!  He's  off  gallivanting  with  the  little 
girls.  But  his  hoofprint's  everywhere.  I 
thought  that  cryptic  paranoiac  was  engaged  to 
shovel  coal  1 


HODGE  (quoting).  Stoke  the  furnace,  and  do  what's 
wanted  down  below.  I  was  by,  when  she  made 
the  contract.  And  too  well  paid  at  that. 

LIMP.  Well,  he's  cook  now !  That,  added  to  the  rest 
of  the  tomfooleries.  Made  them  cakes! 

HODGE.  Seems  sinful,  don't  it?  And  all  this  want 
in  the  world.  Good  cakes,  as  might  have  been 
given  to  the  poor.  The  deserving  poor. 

LIMP  grunts  aggrievedly. 

It's  not  even  as  if  they  paid  their  whack.  After 
all,  it's  a  charity,  and  ought  to  be  run  as  such. 
But  she  never  would  listen  to  me. 

LIMP.  There  was  one,  a  mountainous  macaroon  with 
a  slab  of  ice  on  it  ...  I  can  see  it  now.  Ugh ! 
And  me  with  a  liver. 

HODGE.     Awful ! 

LIMP.  Awful!  It's  torments  of  the  damned!  .  .  . 
Did  I  ever  tell  you  about  my  liver,  Timothy? 

HODGE.     You  did,  Job.     Reglar,  the  last  seven  years. 
And  he  eyes  him  firmly. 

Funny  thing,  never  had  a  liver.  But  we  all 
have  our  troubles.  Mine's  fatty  degeneration 
of  the  heart.  Doctor  says  I'll  go,  that  way, 
sometime. 

[3] 


This  does  not  really  comfort  JOB.     He 
moves  irritably  to  the  fireplace. 

LIMP.  I  wish  you  wouldn't  be  forever  contemplating 
tombs. 

HODGE.     We  got  to  die,  Job. 

LIMP  (sneering).     There  is  no  death!     Ask  her. 

HODGE.  /  ain't  responsible  for  her  profanity.  You'd 
better  blame  that  window.  That's  what's  ad- 
dled her  brain.  Twisting  Scripture ! 

He  turns  reproachfully  towards  the  win- 
dow. 

Don't  look  like  no  Angel  of  the  Resurrection, 
neither.  Looks  to  me,  more  like  one  of  them 
new-fangled  cover  designs. 

He  straddles  the  chair  and  faces  LIMP, 
who  has  his  back  to  the  fire. 

It's  all  this  thirteenth  century  falderal.  Mo- 
ment Nicholas  Biggs  left  her  the  money,  I  knew 
what  it  would  be.  I  did  my  best.  But  no! 
Orphanage!  So  she  buys  this  ramshackle  old 
has-been.  If  she'd  invested  in  my  Lucifer 
Power  and  Light  Company,  as  you  others  did, 
by  today  she'd  have  been  a  Rockyfeller.  I 
[4] 


don't  recall  the  exact  present  market-price  of 
Gothic  nunneries ;  but  you  know  what  Lucifers 
been  doing  since  the  war.  Besides  the  patriot- 
ism !  Investing  with  me  would  have  served 
the  two  most  improving  principles  of  the  hour: 
Business  As  Usual  and  Doing  Your  Bit. 

He  bites  his  knuckle  meditatively.     The 
action  points  to  an  acquisitive  infancy. 

LIMP.  If  she'd  only  had  the  taste  to  make  it  a  mu- 
seum! 

HODGE.  Or  else  the  gumption  to  run  it  as  a  ruin. 
Simply  wanted  a  turnstile  and  a  man  at  fifteen 
per.  No!  Education!  Let  us  resume  from 
where  we  halted  in  thirteen  something! 
Course,  education's  —  needed.  My  young 
Baptists  now,  I  suppose  you'd  call  them  edu- 
cated. They  don't  dance,  they  don't  drink, 
they  don't  go  to  theaytres,  don't  do  anything! 
—  What  more  do  you  want?  And  I  make  out 
of  it!  .  .  . 

He  discovers  a  nice  wart  behind  his  ear. 

If  the  place  paid !  If  it  was  only  one  of  them 
high-priced  schools,  where  the  little  girls  run 
around  in  automobiles  and  the  little  boys  play 
golf  all  day!  But  orphans!  Penniless  or- 
phans! Not  even  orphans,  some  of  them! 
[51 


There  are  children  in  this  establishment  today, 
who  have  healthy  well-fed  parents  walking  the 
earth.  I  taxed  her  with  that  once.  Know 
what  she  said?  They'll  all  be  walking,  pres- 
ently. That  was  th  very  first  time  I  noticed, 
she  was  going  peculL*  in  her  head. 

LIMP.     Peculiar!     It's  dementia  praecox! 

HODGE.  Then,  the  things  she's  teaching  them!  My 
young  people  would  be  shocked.  Forms  and 
ceremonies,  and  play-acting  and  sex  hygiene, 
you'd  think  they  was  so  many  grown-up  married 
men  and  women,  the  unpleasant  things  they 
know.  Have  you  seen  their  Greek  dancing?  — 
I  have !  And  they  do  it  openly,  brazenly !  I 
don't  know  how  you  think;  but  I  know  how  I 
was  brought  up  to  consider  little  girls'  legs. 
And  of  course,  since  he's  come  .  .  . ! 
I  may  be  only  a  plain  God-fearing  man  of  busi- 
ness; but  I  hope  I  represent  the  spirit  of  an 
enlightened  protestant  age.  And  I  tell  you,  it 
hurts  my  inside,  to  see  so  much  good  money, 
sort  of  —  getting  away. 

And  he  is  back  at  his  mouth  once  more. 

LIMP.     It  isn't  the  thirteenth  century.     It's  this  mod- 
ern  levelling.   Socialism!   And  humouring 

indigent  brats  with  macaroons. 
[6] 


HODGE.  I'm  against  socialism,  myself.  It  destroys 
incentive. 

LIMP.  Mediaevalism's  all  right  in  its  proper  place: 
the  past.  Something  to  escape  to,  from  the 
loathsome  present.  But  why  resuscitate  it  for 
a  creche  of  undiscerning  sucklings?  Can  they 
grasp  symbolism,  grotesquerie,  the  gargoyle? 
Can  they  grasp  the  creative  technicalities  of  such 
works  as  Dante's  Inferno?  No!  lean.  I've 
a  liver. 

And  he  indicates  that  organ,  feelingly. 

HODGE.  You  remind  me  of  corpses.  Some  people 
would  travel  long  weary  miles  for  a  corpse.  I 
don't  mean  merely  clergymen  and  undertakers. 
Grandmothers,  aunts,  next-door  neighbours, 
people  of  that  sort.  My  mother  loved  them. 
Course,  corpses  have  their  uses,  same  as  — 
ourselves;  but  as  you  say,  why  resuscitate? 
End  of  the  world  and  all  that,  yes!  Only,  I 
mean  —  actually.  Nice  lot  of  dummies  we'd 
look,  wouldn't  we,  if  all  the  graveyards  was  sud- 
denly to  ... 

LIMP  (explosively).  Look  here,  Timothy!  Do  you 
propose  chirruping  your  charnel  fancies  the 
whole  morning? 

Hodge  regards  him  with  melancholy  dis- 
pleasure. 


HODGE.  Ain't  you  got  no  higher  nature,  Job?  Don't 
be  liverish.  Have  a  heart. 

He  claps  his  hand  rememberingly  to  his 
own.  His  intended  diagnosis,  how- 
ever, is  prevented  by  the  tumultuous 
appearance  of  PoMEROY  WRAGG 
from  the  Refectory.  He  is  blown  in, 
as  it  were,  upon  gales  of  childish  glee. 

POMEROY  is  a  small  old  man,  spick  and 
span,  now  bespattered  with  confec- 
tionery. He  is  in  funeral  garb, 
wears  national  emblems  in  his  lapel, 
and  seems  perturbed. 

WRAGG.  The  poisonous  young  reptiles !  This  comes 
of  Magna  Charta !  This  comes  of  granting 
popular  liberties!  Give  them  a  taste  of  gen- 
uine feudalism,  say  I !  Racks,  tortures,  thumb- 
screws! Look  at  me! 

HODGE..  Well,  you  do  look  a  mug.  What  have  they 
done? 

WRAGG.  Done !  Plastered  me  up  with  cake  and  ba- 
nana skin,  and  all  the  filthy  leavings  of  their 
gluttonous  young  mouths. 

LIMP.     The  little  swine!     Why? 

WRAGG.     Because,  like  a  babbling  bivalve,  I  cast  my 

[8] 


pearls  before  them.  You  know  my  platform. 
You  know  the  priceless  gems  I'm  bawling  night 
and  day  into  the  flapping  ears  of  every  ass  I 
meet.  I  gave  them  all.  And  they  plastered 
me  with  offal. 

HODGE.  Signifying  disagreement? 
WRAGG.  Disagreement !  Worse ! 
LIMP.  Contempt? 

9 

WRAGG.  Worse !  They  took  me  for  a  funny  man, 
and  hugged  me ! 

The  others  reply  incredulously: 
BOTH.     No!  .  .  . 

WRAGG.  I  tell  you,  they  did !  I  can  feel  their  sticky 
kisses  all  over  me.  Then  they  romped  me  up 
and  down,  and  made  me  this  disgusting  mess. 
Dressed  for  the  Memorial  Service,  too!  If 
ever  this  leaks  out,  I'm  lost.  Let  people  once 
get  it  into  their  heads,  I'm  funny;  and  I  shall 
perish  from  the  earth.  Look  at  me ! 

He  gyrates.     Upon  his  back  is  pinned 
a  paper,  bearing  the  legend  in  a  large 
scrawling  hand:  MISTER  WRAGG 
IS  A  WAGG. 
[9] 


HODGE  (laughing).     Well,  that's  funny! 
WRAGG  (turning  furiously) .     What's  funny? 
LIMP  (testily).     On  your  back,  man!     On  your  back! 
He  unpins  and  gives  him  the  paper. 

WRAGG.  That's  that  little  devil  in  yellow,  who  wanted 
me  to  play  pickaback!  (spitefully)  ;  I  suppose 
she  thinks  that's  poetry ! 

HODGE.  Here,  save  them  pins.  I  wouldn't  be  the 
man  I  am  today,  if  I  hadn't  saved  pins. 

LIMP  hands  them  to  him.     He  sticks 
them  lovingly  in  his  waistcoat  edge. 

WRAGG.  This  comes  of  helping  friends!  Pulling  us 
out  of  our  comfortable  Sunday  beds  to  play 
peepbo!  Has  anyone  seen  Julia?  She 
planned  this  conspiracy. 

HODGE.  We  ain't  seen  Julia,  nor  her.  And  we  been 
poking  about  since  eight.  Job  in  the  kitchen: 
me  in  the  refectory. 

LIMP.  Picked  up  a  few  choice  titbits,  too !  /  did.  I 
don't  know  what  Timothy  .  .  . 

But  TIMOTHY  muses  upon  some  prob- 
lem of  his  own. 
[10] 


HODGE.  Them  poor-boxes  in  the  refectory,  as  the  kids 
put  their  pennies  in,  ain't  no  good.  You  can 
poke  them  out  with  your  knife,  as  easy  as  easy. 

WRAGG.  Well,  we  must  await  Julia's  pleasure;  that's 
all! 

LIMP.  Yes,  and  supposing  she  turns  up !  Nice  catas- 
trophe we'd  bring  about,  and  no  Julia  behind 
us! 

WRAGG.     We  must  talk  her  down ! 
LIMP.     Mary  Bliss ! 

He  glooms  ironically,  as  Pluto  might 
upon  the  bootless  dreams  of  Sisyphos. 

HODGE.     Here's  Julia. 

JULIA  MANNERS  trips  briskly  down  the 
stairway.  She  is  a  widow  of  means, 
dressed  elegantly  but  severely  in  plum- 
coloured  silk. 

JULIA.  Everybody  here?  Charming!  Have  they 
sent  the  talking  machine  ?  —  We'll  want  that. 
Ah !  Opposite  the  Bible !  Most  appropriate ! 

She  joins  them.  They  gather  around 
her. 

[ii] 


IVe  been  up  in  her  room,  alone,  rummaging 
through  her  things.  Now,  Job,  don't  get  punc- 
tilious: our  plot  necessitates  it.  I  will  say  one 
thing  for  her  —  she's  orderly.  You  know,  that 
crafty  kind  of  orderliness,  covering  an  oblique 
mind. 

Have  you  obtained  anything? 

She  happens  to  glance  at  HODGE,  who 
takes  the  enquiry  personally; 

HODGE.     Me?     Nothing  to  speak  of. 

JULIA.  I  have!  I've  discovered  everything.  It  con- 
firms our  vilest  suspicions. 

HODGE.     About  her? 
LIMP.     About  him? 

JULIA.  About  both  of  them.  It's  perfectly  unspeak- 
able :  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  at  once.  Let's  sit 
down  and  be  comfortable. 

They  do  so.  JULIA,  In  the  middle  of 
the  high-backed  bench:  LIMP,  on  her 
left.  WRAGG  takes  the  faldstoolf  be- 
low the  fire.  HODGE,  the  chair. 

LIMP.  Looks  as  if  we  were  going  to  get  somewhere  at 
last. 

[12] 


The  others  <  shush '  him  down. 

JULIA.  I  always  knew  that  Mary  Bliss  was  a  fool. 
Her  educational  theories  prove  that.  And  it 
was  I,  remember,  first  drew  attention  to  her 
queer  mental  .  .  .  Well,  today's  revelation 
caps  everything!  Though  really,  if  I  hadn't 
been  a  born  innocent,  I  should  have  guessed 
that  too!  For  all  the  town  talks  of  it!  .  .  . 
Listen !  I've  been  reading  her  diary. 

LIMP.     What!  .  .  . 

JULIA.  Yes,  I'm  aware  it  isn't  done :  you  needn't  tell 
me  that !  After  all,  it's  the  motive !  .  .  .1 
Look  here,  I  can't  proceed  with  my  story,  if 
you  keep  on  impugning  my  honour  in  this 
ungentlemanly  way.  Timothy  understands. 
Don't  you,  Tim? 

HODGE  (complaisantly) .     Oh,  yes. 

JULIA.  There,  you  see !  We  can't  stand  selfishly  by, 
and  watch  that  creature  pass  to  perdition,  with- 
out some  help.  We  must  save  her  from  her- 
self: we're  her  friends.  Well,  aren't  we? 

OMNES  (vociferously).     Oh,  yes!     Yes! 

JULIA.     Then,  doesn't  that  shew?     As  I  say,  it's  the 
intention.     Even    God    searches    our    hearts. 
Isn't  that  a  kind  of  reading  diaries? 
['3] 


And,  divinely  fortified,  she  drops  to  the 
confidential; 

My  dears,  it's  practically  a  confession.  Every 
single  wickedness  set  down  in  barefaced  black 
and  white.  As  for  him!  I  had  my  misgivings 
before ;  but  now  I  could  tell  you  a  pretty  thing 
or  two  1  The  trickster  has  her  completely  un- 
der his  thumb. 

WRAGG.     Dafty? 

JULIA.     Dafty. 

HODGE.     What's  his  real  name,  I  wonder? 

JULIA.  Timothy,  what  does  it  matter?  Who  cares 
about  the  real  name  of  a  brute  that  stokes  fur- 
naces? Though  no  doubt  he  has  diabolically 
deep  reasons  for  concealment! 

HODGE.  It's  that  sleepy  look  of  his !  Sort  of  —  croc- 
odile. 

JULIA.     Sleepy!     He's  as  wide  awake  as  .  .  . 

LIMP.     Can't  imagine  what  she  sees  in  the  scoundrel ! 

JULIA  (pityingly).     My  dear  Job!     Don't  you  know, 
persons  like  Dafty  only  have  to  dress  peculiarly, 
and  cultivate  a  few  eccentricities,  for  every  mis- 
[14] 


guided  woman  in  the  world  to  jump  at  them? 
That's  what  they  do :  jump !  The  children, 
too.  That  little  yellow  thing  especially. 

HODGE.     Course,  it's  plain,  what  he's  after! 

He  taps  his  pocket.     Coins  are  heard 
clinking. 

JULIA.  Precisely  our  motive  for  stepping  in.  Nich- 
olas Biggs  only  left  her  the  money  in  one  of  his 
cranks,  ghastly  old  fiend!  If  her  friends  won't 
look  after  it,  who  will?  It's  our  sacred  duty! 
We  owe  it  to  the  dead !  She  shall  not  squander 
it  on  worthless  outsiders !  Worming  in ! 

HODGE.     It's  her  immortal  soul,  I'm  thinking  of ! 

JULIA.  Exactly!  We  must  remember  that,  too. 
After  all,  if  we  do  read  diaries,  we  are  bring- 
ing her  the  consolations  of  religion.  Else,  why 
did  I  send  the  talking  machine? 

LIMP.     Well,  why? 

JULIA  (mysteriously).  I'm  reserving  that.  Tim- 
othy, see  if  the  record's  there. 

He  rises  heavily  to  do  so;  but  WRAGG'S 
next  utterance  diverts  him. 


WRAGG.  Queer  old  stick,  Nicholas!  Clever  as  the 
deuce !  Billions,  out  of  manufacturing  optical 
instruments ! 

HODGE.  Dead  wrong!  It  was  monster  enterprise, 
bold  investment,  made  him.  Till  he  began 
smashing  telescopes. 

WRAGG.     I  never  heard  that. 

HODGE.  There's  not  many  as  knows.  Kept  dark! 
Business ! 

He  compresses  his  lips  with  the  pro- 
found inscrutability  of  the  man  of  af- 
fairs. LIMP  50 on  pricks  that  bubble; 

LIMP.  No  mystery!  Everybody  knows  it  was  relig- 
ious mania!  Runs  through  the  whole  family: 
either  her  way,  or  old  Nick's !  She  flies  off  into 
erotic  mysticism  and  esoteric  orphanages:  he, 
after  a  perfectly  brilliant  financial  career,  sud- 
denly declares  himself  a  damned  spirit,  hacks  his 
observatory  to  smithereens,  and  goes  gibbering 
into  limbo  under  the  hallucination  that  the  sky 
is  an  Enormous  Eye. 

JULIA.     Enormous.  .  .  .  How  horrible! 
WRAGG.     Ever  see  him? 

[16] 


LIMP.  Nobody  did.  But  his  influence  was  unfathom- 
able. Wherever  any  scheming  of  transcendent 
magnitude  was  afoot,  you  might  be  sure,  deep 
down,  abysmally,  under  one  pseudonym  or  an- 
other, old  .  .  . 

HODGE.     Ssh!     Dafty!  .  .  . 

This,  he  delivers  in  a  stentorian  stage 
whisper. 

DAFTY  enters  from  the  Scullery  with  a 
log.  He  is  a  quaint  soul  in  goggles, 
shambling  of  gait  and  bent,  a  whimsi- 
cal twinkle  in  his  eye;  and  rather  nob- 
bishly  clad  in  buff  nankeens  with  but- 
toned gaiters  and  a  brimstone  vest. 

He  places  the  log  on  the  fire,  beams  af- 
fably upon  the  company,  and  re- 
marks; 

DAFTY.  Weather,  we're  having!  And  thunder  brew- 
ing! 

They  stiffen,  making  no  reply.  Noth- 
ing daunted,  he  tries  a  crack  with 
WRAGG  ; 

Fond  of  their  bit  of  fun!  That  Golden  One, 
now!  Quite  a  poet,  I  must  say.  And  only 
seven ! 


WRAGG  pokes  vigorously  at  the  fire. 
DAFTY  watches  amiably,  with  an  air 
of  heartening  the  well-meant  bung- 
ling of  an  amateur.  He  then 
spreads  further  radiance  f  ostensibly 
addressing  the  Gothic  arches  above 
him. 

They  enjoyed  their  macaroon.     I  must  have 
that  recorded  in  the  diary. 

The  others  focus  LIMP  and  JULIA  in 
turn,  as  they  register  these  trifles. 

rAnd  DAFTY  makes  for  his  den.  On  his 
journey ,  he  bethinks  him  of  another 
word;  and  with  a  glint  at  HODGE,  pro- 
duces from  his  vest,  a  coin. 

Can  any  of  you  kind  friends  break  me  this  ? 

HODGE  can.  The  others  will  see  him 
in  the  nether  gulf  first. 

HODGE.     I  can  give  you  pennies. 

DAFTY.     Thank  you.     Pennies  will  do  nicely. 

He  regards  him  slumberously,  an  air  of 
the  Nile  about  him. 

The  transaction  is  made.     HODGE  bites 
[18] 


the  silver  to  test  it.  He  then  tickles 
the  crook  of  his  mouth  with  his  fore- 
finger, making  a  secretive  brokers  jib. 
DAFTY  studies  the  action  heed  fully, 
and  imitates  it.  This  done,  he  shuf- 
fles towards  the  Scullery. 

But    JULIA    can    restrain    herself    no 
longer; 

JULIA.     You !     Stoker ! 
DAFTY.     Ma'am? 

And  he  pops  his  head  round  the  back  of 
the  bench. 

JULIA.  Have  you  any  earthly  inkling  of  what  decent 
godly  people  mean  by  morality? 

DAFTY  (chuckling).  Bless  your  heart,  yes,  ma'am! 
Means  making  yourself  disagreeable  to  the  in- 
decent devilish  ones.  Only,  don't  bother  your 
head,  ma'am:  you  get  over  it!  I  was  moral 
myself  once.  But  I  learned  a  game  worth  doz- 
ens of  it.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  some  day, 
when  you  and  I  ...  (winking)  ;  You  know! 
Sweet  by  and  bye! 

JULIA.     Thank  you,  I  am  not  desirous  of  learning. 

HODGE.  I  see  what's  wrong  with  this  fellow.  He's 
one  of  these  word-cubists.  You  know,  calls 


black  white;  and  twists  things  inside  out.  Job, 
you're  a  scholar :  what's  the  name  of  that  thing 
they  do? 

LIMP  (snapping).     Paradox! 

HODGE.     Thought  so !     You  see,  it'll  be  anarchy  next, 
and  free  love,  and  got  no  religion. 

DAFTY  (cunningly).     Yes,  I  have,  too! 
JULIA.     You!  Religious! 

DAFTY.  Yes,  ma'am,  damnably!  Only,  don't  tell 
anybody.  The  moment  you  profess  religion, 
you're  put  down  for  something  serious  at  once ; 
.  and  all  your  little  jokes  go  for  nothing.  I'm 
considered  quite  a  funny  man,  so  long  as  peo- 
ple don't  imagine  me  religious.  Only  whack 
them  over  the  back  with  a  scourge:  they  split 
with  laughter !  —  They  never  dream  of  apos- 
tolic function.  Another  thing !  —  Keeping 
mum  staves  off  the  saved.  I've  had  whole 
Sunday  Schools  jigging  around  me,  just  because 
some  busybody  blurted.  And  it's  useless  in- 
forming them,  their  god's  a  Zulu's  devil;  and 
their  revivalism  stinks  to  heaven.  They  never 
see  the  joke.  They  yell  out  halleluiah,  and 
take  your  name  in  vain,  and  pump  you  by  the 
hand :  till  you  wish  yourself  in  hell,  for  a  spice 
of  solid  home-comfort  and  congeniality.  Mind 
[20] 


you,  I  believe  God's  love  is  infinite.  There  is 
salvation  for  all  —  even  the  saved;  if  only 
they'll  repent,  and  demolish  a  few  big  taber- 
nacles. Why,  I  knew  a  Methodist  once,  who 
had  been  saved  fifteen  times ;  but  the  Lord  found 
him  at  last,  and  now  he's  quite  an  honest  mem- 
ber of  society  —  a  low  comedian. 

Meantime,  his  hearers  have  risen  to 
sublime  aloofness.  They  would  not 
hearken  to  the  bellowings  of  Apol- 
lyon.  Now,  however,  they  begin  to 
descend  rapidly; 

You  see,  it's  all  a  matter  of  eyesight.  You 
can't  get  good  eyes  out  of  bad  spectacles.  That 
master  optician,  my  good  friend,  Roger  Bacon, 
in  this  very  thirteenth  century,  knew  that.  Then 
again :  take  telescopes !  An  instrument  can  be 
made  with  power  enough  to  reach  beyond  the 
stars.  But  it's  no  heavenly  use  to  a  blind  man. 
He  only  has  to  learn  that  it  exists,  to  be  misled. 
Better  smash  it  altogether  and  have  done! 
You  know  those  coloured  flames  and  flickers, 
when  you  press  your  eyeballs?  Well,  his  poor 
black  mind  gets  lost  in  them;  and  he  fancies  he 
beholds  the  shining  of  the  Seven  Fiery  Spirits 
that  burn  about  the  Great  White  Throne. 

LlMP  (bitingly) .     What  do  you  know  about  it? 

[21] 


DAFTY  (seraphically) .  Ah,  that's  the  funniest  joke  of 
all.  I  have  seen  those  Spirits. 

JULIA.  That's  enough  infidelity,  stoker!  You  can 
go. 

DAFTY  (ruefully).  Wish  my  jokes  could!  Seems  to 
be  no  place  for  really  delicate  humour  nowa- 
days. 

And  he  seeks  the  coaly  comfort  of  his 
underworld. 

Alone,  at  last,  they  let  loose  their  pent- 
up  feelings; 

JULIA.  And  that's  the  influence,  she  deems  desirable 
for  children ! 

LIMP.  If  he'd  only  be  contented  with  that  Stygian  pit, 
unto  which  it  has  pleased  the  Unknowable  to 
call  him!  But  he  comes  up!  He  gallivants! 
He  cooks! 

WRAGG.  He  plays  the  fiddle,  while  those  young  imps 
jig! 

HODGE.  I've  seen  him  caper  like  an  old  he-goat,  him- 
self! He  took  off  Satan  in  their  pageant! 
Togged  up  and  hollered  like  an  actor ! 


LIMP.     He  makes  them  fireworks !     They  tell  him  all 
their  beastly  little  secrets.     He  kisses  the  girls ! 

JULIA.     And  sows  within  their  minds  the  tares  of  sin 
and  irreligion! 

HODGE.     Something  must  be  done ! 
WRAGG.     Something  drastic! 
LIMP.     Something  excruciating ! 
HODGE.     Something  really  nasty ! 

JULIA.     Precisely!     That's   why  we're   here.     Now, 
listen. 

They  bank  their  fires.  They  divine  she 
has  something  subterranean  to  im- 
part. She  has. 

We  must  try  to  save  her  first.  It  wouldn't  be 
quite  kind  to  condemn  her,  if  we  didn't  try  to 
save  her  first.  Then,  if  she's  obstinate  —  as 
she  will  be !  —  there's  the  diary.  As  I  say, 
we're  her  friends,  and  have  every  right  to  be- 
have as  such.  So  that's  settled.  And  we  can 
begin  saving. 

I  have  everything  ready.     The  talking  ma- 
chine, the  hymn  books,  even  the  collection  plate. 
And  he'll  be  here  within  the  hour. 
[23] 


OMNES.    Who  ? 
JULIA.    Ah!  ... 

She  now  springs  her  trump  card. 
Tommy  Trail ! 
OMNES.     Who!  .  .  . 
JULIA.     Tommy  Trail. 
WRAGG.     You'll  never  get  him. 
JULIA.     I  have. 

HODGE.  You're  a  miracle!  Tommy  demands  gold- 
mines ! 

JULIA.  He  does.  Then  there  was  the  bracelet  for 
Mother,  and  Johnny's  little  diamond  pin;  but 
I  thought  if  we  all  chipped  in.  ...  And  it's 
really  an  investment,  rightly  considered.  Be- 
sides saving  her  soul ! 

What  do  you  say,  Pomeroy?     You've  been 
speaking  on  the  same  platform  with  him  lately. 

WRAGG.  I  say,  Tommy  Trail  is  the  biggest  patriotic 
bonanza,  booming  today.  That  man,  with  a 
flag  and  a  hymn,  can  do  more  for  recruiting  in 
four  minutes,  than  the  whole  of  Pentecost. 


JULIA.     What  power!     I  do  hope  his  voice  .  .  s 

WRAGG.  That's  no  matter!  When  his  voice  croaks, 
he  gets  there  with  gesticulation.  IVe  known 
him  gnaw  the  pulpit  before  today. 

JULIA.     What  inspiration! 

WRAGG.     Doctrine,  a  bit  crude  .  .  . 

JULIA.     Ah,  but  then  he's  so  sincere ! 

LIMP.     So's  a  homicidal  maniac!     American,  isn't  he? 

WRAGG.  Distinctly:  representatively!  Emerson  was 
one  sort.  He's  another. 

LIMP.  Well,  he  won't  get  anything  out  of  me.  I 
hate  his  methods. 

JULIA.  My  dear  Job,  he  reaches  people  you  and  I 
wouldn't  touch!  Really  horrid  low-class 
people,  you  know ! 

LIMP.     Julia,  his  language!  .  .  . 

JULIA.  How  absurd  you  are  I  The  man  was  brought 
up  on  a  football  field !  You  can't  expect  a  man 
brought  up  on  a  football  field,  to  talk  like 
Ruskin ! 

LIMP.     Yes,  but  his  god  —  his  disagreeable  god !  .  .  . 

[25] 


JULIA.  Now,  Job !  You  can't  go  judging  everybody 
by  his  god!  Do  be  charitable! 

HODGE.  Look  at  the  theaytres  he's  closed!  The 
good  beer  he's  had  wasted ! 

WRAGG.  Look  at  that  last  sermon,  Render  unto 
Ctzsar!  Thousands  rallied  to  the  standard  of 
civilization ! 

HODGE.  And  the  one  before,  as  broke  the  strike  in 
my  own  industry!  That  was,  Suffer,  little 
children. 

JULIA.  Then  his  influence  in  the  Happy  Home!  I 
know  an  auctioneer,  a  church  deacon,  who  for- 
sook his  wife.  Now,  instead  of  playing  cards 
with  low  companions,  he  sings  hymns  to  her. 

HODGE.  In  Tommy,  you  get  all  the  high-class  fun  of 
Sarah  Bernhardt  and  Charlie  Chaplin  knocked 
into  one,  without  the  wickedness.  He's  one  of 
the  elect  all  right,  is  Tommy!  Oil  of  salvation 
regular  oozes  from  him !  The  very  unions 
believe  and  tremble  when  he  comes!  He 
makes  the  worker  content  with  his  wages ! 
How?  Offers  the  blighter  heaven:  if  he  re- 
fuses —  gives  him  hell. 

LIMP.     Yes,  hell  and  Tommy ! 

[26] 


JULIA.  Job,  do  remember  you  are  a  gentleman! 
.  .  .  Oh,  she'll  be  here  directly,  and  he'll  spoil 
everything!  .  .  . 

Tommy  has  been  taken  up  by  people  quite  as 
good  as  you !  People  of  the  highest  rank ! 
The  Colorado-Grubbs ! 

LIMP.     Humph ! 

JULIA  (sharply).     What's  that? 

LIMP.  My  opinion  of  the  Colorado-Grubbs! 
Humph ! 

JULIA.     Well,  so  long  as  you  confine  yourself  to  re- 
marks like  that,  when  she  .  .  . 
Ah!  ... 

A  thin  high  voice  is  heard  above,  quaver- 
ing "  Lead,  kindly  Light!' 

Remember!  Salvation  first.  When  she  re- 
fuses .  .  . 

HODGE  (histrionically).     And  humour  her ! 


His  whisper  wakes  the  age-long  silence  of 
the  loftiest  vaults  above. 


JULIA.     Ssh ! 


And  they  all  sit  rigid  with  anticipation. 
[27] 


Miss  BLISS  appears  from  the  right,  tot- 
tering down  the  stairway  by  aid  of  a 
cane.  She  is  an  old  woman  of 
seventy-five,  dressed  daintily  in  dove- 
grey  with  a  white  cashmere  shawl  and 
a  chantilly  lace  cap.  Her  snowy  hair 
is  arranged  in  side  curls  close  to 
the  temples  with  combs.  She  wears 
gold  spectacles;  and  carries  over  her 
arm  a  large  work-bag,  embroidered 
with  a  mediaeval  device. 

They  rise  to  meet  her.  She  commences 
talking  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  and 
continues  doing  so,  all  the  way  down. 

BLISS.  Well,  well,  well !  First  Advent  Sunday,  with 
its  blessed  message  of  expectation!  And  now 
this  beautiful  unexpected  visitation  of  nice  kind 
friends.  Well,  well !  And  then  they  say  there 
are  no  miracles!  .  .  . 
What  is  it?  A  symposium,  or  a  conspiracy? 

There  is  an  awkward  pause.  Then 
JULIA  answers  with  effusive  pleas- 
antry. 

JULIA.     Oh,  a  conspiracy,  Miss  Bliss! 

BLISS.     Well,   well,    that   is   as   it   should   be.     Con- 
spiracy: a  breathing  together.     It  reminds  me 
[28] 


of  that  Great  Breathing,  when  .  .  .  And  even 
now,  it  may  be  —  at  almost  any  moment  .  .  . 
Don't  you  feel  something  in  the  air?  A  kind 
of  trembling ! 

She  puts  forth  a  quivering  little  palsied 
hand. 

And  then,  my  Angel!  Is  he  not  perhaps  a 
trifle  more  golden? 

She  turns  towards  her  beloved  window. 
HODGE.     Well,  I  don't  know  as    ... 

JULIA  (quickly).  Why,  certainly!  Distinctly  yel- 
lower! (Under  her  breath)  Old  fool!  .  .  . 
Let  me  help  you,  Miss  Bliss. 

And  she  juts  out  a  succoring  arm. 

BLISS.     No,   no,   thank  you.     I   can   do  very  nicely. 
Only,  the  stairs  are  just  a  wee  mite  steeper 
than  .  .  . 
Oh,  but  I  must  not  say  that !     It  is  unbelieving. 

By  this  time,  she  has  joined  them  below. 

So,  here  we  all  are !  How  radiant  you  appear ! 
I  cannot  shake  hands,  because  my  poor  old  .  .  . 

[29] 


She  flushes,  and  changes  the  subject 
quickly. 

Oh,  such  a  naughty  old  woman,  I  am!  You 
look  so  good  and  sweet,  you  three  boys,  I'd  like 
to  kiss  you !  But  I  must  behave :  I  have  just 
come  from  Early  Celebration.  There !  — 
Julia,  for  the  company  of  you. 

She  kisses  JULIA  with  divine  tender- 
ness. JULIA,  responding,  pecks  the 
air. 

I  always  did  like  kissing.     It  is  such  a  pretty 
ceremony.     Kind  of  a  sacrament!     Of  course, 
there  was  Judas,  poor  thing;  but  He  .  .  . 
And  the   children   are   darlings!     They   have 
such  little  clean  faces! 

HODGE.     Kissing  ain't  improper,  when  .  .  . 

BLISS.  Yes,  I  saw  you,  Timothy!  But  you  really 
mustn't!  She  was  the  merriest  maid  I  ever 
had. 

Flabbergasted,  he  brings  his  fist  down  on 
the  back  of  the  chair.  She  mistakes 
his  meaning. 

No,  I  won't  sit,  thank  you.     They  are  awaiting 
my  morning  word.     Stay  the  whole  day,  all  of 
[30] 


you.  There  is  to  be  Greek  dancing.  And  at 
eleven  o'clock,  as  it's  Advent  Sunday,  they  are 
donning  their  new  white  robes,  and  are  to  do 
their  Pageant  of  the  Second  Coming.  Dafty 
will  play  an  archangel!  Yes,  is  he  not  a 
genius?  You  will  enjoy  the  dancing,  Timothy. 
You  always  watch  it  so  interestedly. 

His  expression  escapes  her,  for  she  is 
busy  bringing  forth  treasure  from  her 
workbag.  It  is  a  small  white  robe. 

Look !  The  very  last  of  all !  I  finished  it  this 
morning  at  my  meditations.  It  is  the  Golden 
Child's.  Hers  had  to  be  last,  of  course;  be- 
cause she  is  the  firstling  of  my  heart.  And  the 
first  shall  be  last,  you  know. 

WRAGG.     Is  that  child,  the  little  yellow  .  .  . 
JULIA.     With  the  big  eyes  that  .  .  . 
HODGE.     And  the  legs  as  ... 

BLISS  (radiant).  That's  the  one!  —  You  see,  they 
all  know  her.  Such  a  frolicsome  tot!  She 
writes  poetry,  too.  And  her  laughter!  It  is 
like  the  bark  of  a  little  happy  dog!  .  .  . 
Oh,  how  remiss  I  am!  Pomeroy,  I  never 
thanked  you  for  the  flag.  He  gave  me  a  beauti- 
ful big  flag  for  the  chapel.  I  put  it  with  all 


the  other  flags,  friends'  and  foes'  alike,  by  the 
altar  of  our  Lady  of  Mercy.  They  look  so 
sweet  and  neighbourly  there  together. 

WRAGG.     You  put  our  flag  with  the  enemy's! 

BLISS.  Assuredly!  They  might  not  think  we  loved 
them,  otherwise. 

And  do  you  see?  These  embroidered  slits  are 
for  the  wings. 

LIMP.     Humph ! 

JULIA.     Er  —  wings?  .  »  « 

BLISS.  Yes,  when  they  come,  you  know.  Oh,  I  tell 
you,  that  is  the  most  important  point  of  all. 
Dafty  examines  her  tiny  shoulder  blades  every 
morning,  to  see  whether  the  pin  feathers  are 
shewing.  And  look  at  this.  A  little  Golden 
Heart,  for  Him  to  know  her  by. 

JULIA.     Him !     Whom  ? 

BLISS  (reproachfully).  Julia!  Aren't  we  all  expect- 
ing Somebody? 

JULIA.     We  are !     I  don't  see  how  you  .  .  . 

BLISS.  Indeed,  I  am !  I  am  not  as  faithless  as  I  seem. 
I  look  for  His  coming,  in  the  quickening  dawn 
of  each  unfolding  moment. 

[32] 


JULIA.  But  you  can't  possibly!  His  coming  is  only 
known  to  ,  .  . 

BLISS.  Yes,  I  remember  that,  too.  Neither  the  day 
nor  the  hour.  But  that  only  means  that  we 
must  be  ready  for  Him,  every  hour. 
Well,  I  must  be  toddling.  The  children  .  .  . 
Oh,  how  forgetful  of  me !  That  was  dear  of 
you,  Julia,  so  dear  of  you :  reading  my  diary. 

JULIA  (aghast).     What!     I!  ... 

BLISS.  Yes,  I  was  above  you,  in  the  oratory,  meditat- 
ing. I  hadn't  the  heart  to  disturb  you:  you 
were  so  happy.  So  I  —  meditated.  Didn't 
you  enjoy  that  bit  about  the  Golden  Child  pull- 
ing Dafty  into  the  pantry,  and  telling  him 
solemnly  that  she  loved  him?  Affectionate 
little  .  .  . 

But  suddenly,  she  sees  JULIA'S  face. 

Oh,  you  are  hurt!  You  think  I  was  uncom- 
panionable, not  coming  down  to  share  your 
pleasure.  Not  if  you  knew  my  heart,  Julia. 
Forgive  me. 

JULIA.     Do  you  mean,  you  —  don't  care? 

BLISS.     Care !     You  have  a  child,  too.     And  then,  we 
have  broken  bread  together. 
[33] 


JULIA.     But  your  private  papers?  .  .  . 

BLISS.  Private!  Among  friends?  There  is  nothing 
covered  that  shall  not  be  revealed;  you  know 
that.  And  when  it  is  Julia  .  .  . 

JULIA  interrupts  her  with  a  nervous 
laugh. 

JULIA.  Of  course,  so  long  as  you  don't  misunderstand 
my  motive  .  .  . 

BLISS.  There  is  no  misunderstanding,  where  there  is 
love,  Julia.  We  mothers  know  that! 

JULIA  (faintly).     Job!  .  .  . 

LIMP.  Don't  appeal  to  me !  I'm  no  mother !  Never 
had  the  slightest  desire  to  be  one  in  my  life! 

His  manner  electrifies  the  atmosphere 
for  a  moment.  Then  Miss  BLISS 
5 ees.  It  is  a  joke. 

BLISS   (chuckling).     I  know  why  you  say  that!     Be- 
cause you  are  a  man !     You  cannot  be  a  mother  ! 
Of  course,  you  can't.     Of  course  not!  .  .  . 
Well,  I  must  go. 

She   makes   for    the   Refectory.     Half 
way  there,  she  sees  the  talking  ma- 
chine on  her  right. 
[34] 


Bless  my  heart !     What  is  this? 

And  she  totters  towards  it. 
HODGE.     Talking  machine. 
BLISS.     Talking  machine?  .  .  . 

She  examines  it  more  closely. 
Do  you  have  to  put  a  penny  into  it? 

HODGE.     There'll  be  more  than  a  penny  put  in  that 
machine,  before  we've  done ! 

BLISS.     I  suppose  you  turn  a  handle,  or  do  something 
to  it,  and  it  goes  on  talking. 

HODGE.     That's  the  notion. 

BLISS.     How  very  clever  of  it !     Very  clever,  indeed ! 

She  leaves  it,  takes  a  glance  around  her 
Gothic  Hall,  and  then  looks  back  at 
the  machine,  saying  with  a  certain  re- 
serve: 

Yes! 

And  resumes  her  interrupted  journey. 

Well,  well,   I   must  administer  their  morning 
word.     Make  yourselves  comfortable   (chuck- 
[35] 


ling).     Ah,  Job!     Of  course,  you  can't!     Of 
course,  you  can't. 

Which  brings  her  to  the  Refectory  door. 
JULIA  (tensely).     Miss  Bliss! 
BLISS  (mildly).     Yes,  Julia? 

JULIA.     Since   you    know    so    much,    I    suppose    you 
understand  he  is  coming  here  this  morning. 

BLISS  (blankly).     He!     Who?  .  .  . 

JULIA  (sharply).     Who!     Aren't  we  expecting  .  .  . 

BLISS  (flaming).     Do  you  mean  —  Him!  .  .  . 

Her  trembling  hands  involuntarily  lift 
themselves  towards  heaven. 

Who  told  you  ? 

JULIA.     He  sent  me  word  by  special  messenger  last 
night. 

BLISS.     Oh,  Word  Immaculate!     Oh,  Blessed  Mes- 
senger! .  .  . 

She  stands  rapt,  transfigured. 

I  must  go  and  put  them  into  their  little  white 
robes  at  once. 

[36] 


And   she   passes    quickly    through    the 
doorway. 

LIMP.     Here's  a  tangle ! 

JULIA.  It's  the  deceit  enrages  me!  The  under- 
handed spying  hypocrisy!  And  there's  an 
irony,  a  cunning  low-down  irony,  echoing 
through  her  every  word! 

LIMP.     An  irony !     It's  triple-fugued ! 

HODGE.  Did  you  hear  about  that  altar?  Virgin 
Mary,  that  means !  My  young  people  would 
fall  flat  dead! 

WRAGG.     And  that  bit  about  the  flag? 
JULIA.     And  the  indecent  reference  to  mothers? 

LIMP.  Well,  what's  your  next  bright  act  in  this  hilari- 
ous comedy? 

JULIA.  The  diary!  I'll  unmask  her  sins,  if  it  takes 
till  Crack  of  Doom !  Let  us  read  it  together ! 
We  have  ages :  I  know  her  morning  word ! 
Quick!  Prepare  for  his  coming!  Then,  the 
offer  of  heaven  first!  If  she  refuses  .  .  V 

She   pauses   for   breath.     HODGE    and 
WRAGG  mistake  it  for  a  cue. 
[37] 


BOTH.     Give  her  hell! 
JULIA.     Exactly !     Come ! 

And  they  rat  up  the  stairway  in  single 
file. 

LIMP.  Damn  it,  they  can't  be  permitted  to  carry  off 
a  think  like  that !  It's  not  done !  Julia !  Oh, 
the  devil ! 

And  he  follows,  fuming,  fondling  his 
liver. 

As  he  vanishes,  the  two  doors  fly  open 
simultaneously.  From  the  Refectory 
appears  Miss  BLISS:  DAFTY,  from 
the  Scullery.  They  hurry  forward, 
meeting  in  the  middle  of  the  Hall. 

BLISS.  Dafty!  It  exhales,  it  emanates !  It  is  in  the 
air! 

DAFTY.     There  is  certainly  something  in  the  air ! 

BLISS.  Doesn't  your  heart  beat  faster?  Don't  you 
feel  yourself  growing  younger  every  moment? 

DAFTY.     Younger !     I'm  a  rollicking  cherub ! 
And  they  both  give  a  little  skip. 

[38] 


BLISS.  The  fields  are  ripe  with  the  harvest  1  No 
more  November:  it  is  high  summer!  There 
goes  my  shawl! 

DAFTY.  And,  dang  it,  there  goes  the  crook  out  of  my 
back! 

He  stiffens  up  laboriously. 
BLISS.     Whip  off  your  spectacles,  man ! 

He  does,  and  pockets  them.  She  does, 
hers;  placing  them  on  the  lectern. 

Oh,  you  are  beautiful!     You  are  young  and 
glorious,  as  the  wakening  spring! 

DAFTY.  You  are  the  flower  and  loveliness  of  all  the 
blossoming  Mays! 

BLISS.  Quick!  We  must  make  ready!  I  will  array 
me  for  the  Bridegroom  in  my  virgin  robes! 
Look!  I  relinquish  every  earthly  prop!  He 
is  coming!  He  is  coming! 

She  casts  aside  her  cane;  and' her  little 
pathetic  hands  wavering  uncertainly 
in  the  air,  she  begins  hobbling  up  the 
stairway. 

DAFTY.     He  is!     He  is!     But  who?  .  .  . 

She  turns  in  ecstasy,  crying  triumphantly; 
[39] 


BLISS.     Who  but  the  very  Lord  of  Glory,  to  awake  the 
slumbering  dead ! 

And  with  accelerating  flight,  she  flutters 
up  and  away  to  her  room. 

The  shawl  is  left  on  the  table  by  the  east- 
ern window:  the  cane,  on  the  floor,  at 
the  bottom  of  the  stairs. 

DAFTY,  left  alone,  does  a  little  gambol. 

If  required,  the  Curtain  may  descend  at 
this  point. 


THE    END  OF  THE    FIRST  ACT 


[40] 


THE  SECOND  ACT 

The  Scene  and  the  Situation  remain  unchanged. 
DAFTY'S  gambol  outgrows  itself.  It  becomes  deliri- 
ous, pythonic,  tarantulous.  As  he  whirls  and  swiftly 
darts  from  side  to  sidey  his  brimstone  'vest  wavers  like 
licking  fire. 

Altercations  are  heard  above.  His  rhythms  falter 
to  a  hircine  frisk.  And  WRAGG,  LIMP,  HODGE  and 
JULIA  appear  flurrying  down  the  stairway. 

LIMP.     Utterly    humiliated!      Your    brilliant    crafts- 
manship, Julia ! 

JULIA.     How  was  I  to  know  she'd  come  sneaking  back? 

WRAGG.     Didn't  even  frame  a  decent  diplomatic  ex- 
planation ! 

JULIA.     You  can't  diplomatize,  and  the  goods  in  your 
hand! 

HODGE.     I  offered  my  pocket! 

JULIA.     Yes,    like   a   bull   of   Bashan!  .  .  .  Oh,    do 
stop!     She's  perfectly  complaisant!     Making 
such  an  ill-bred  fuss ! 
Well!     What  demoniac  seizure  .  .  . 


For,  at  this  moment,  DAFTY  waltzes 
from  behind  the  Bible  into  view. 

DAFTY.     Salvation!     He  is  coming!     He  is  coming! 

And,  executing  a  pirouette,  he  hops  to 
his  hole. 

JULIA.  Everybody  knows !  It's  Doomsday !  I  shall 
expect  the  secrets  of  my  heart  to  be  spread 
abroad  next ! 

She  walks  agitatedly  to  the  fireplace,  fol- 
lowed by  LIMP.  WRAGG  squats 
dolefully  on  the  bottom  stair,  HODGE 
standing  by  him. 

WRAGG.  Why  did  she  want  to  change  her  dress? 
She's  dressed  once  today. 

JULIA.     A  man's  coming!     It's  all  part  of  her  crawl- 
ing, fascinating  .  .  . 
Yes,  that  breaks  my  dream ! 

HODGE.     Dream? 

JULIA.  Yes,  one  of  «my  nightmares.  Can't 
imagine  where  I  get  them !  I  must  catch  them 
from  Algernon!  First  he  howls  and  wakes 
me:  then  I  howl  and  wake  him:  every  night! 

LIMP.     Pleasant  household ! 

[42] 


She  pays   no   heed.     She  is  labouring 
with  gruesome  amnesias. 

JULIA.     It  was  just  like  Mary  Bliss  1     Her  eyes !  .  .  . 
HODGE  goes  over  to  the  eastern  window. 

HODGE.  Let's  get  a  bit  of  air.  I  feel  that  puthery. 
And,  of  course,  here,  they  got  nothing  for  it. 

He  betokens  weanless  yearnings. 
LIMP.     Wish  you  had  my  liver! 
HODGE.     That's  friendly! 

WRAGG.  Feel  funny,  myself!  Oughtn't!  My 
people  were  always  the  pink  of  salubrity. 
Served  their  country  gallantly  till  ninety.  With 
munitions. 

HODGE.     What  took  them? 
WRAGG.     Senile  decay. 

JULIA.  I  can  see  it  now !  Her  living  image !  Crawl- 
ing! That  long  grey  snake!  .  .  . 

HODGE.     Snakes     mean     something!     My     mother 
dreamed  snakes,  before  she  had  me.     Then  I 
come ;  and  she  sort  of  —  faded  away. 
What  come  after  the  crawl? 

[43] 


JULIA.  After  the  crawl !  Naturally,  I  fled  shrieking 
to  Algernon!  Insensitive  little  wretch,  there 
he  lay,  sucking  his  thumb,  as  though  nothing 
whatever  had  happened ! 

HODGE.  That's  a  sign,  Julia !  Last  time  I  saw  him, 
little  beggar  had  a  stomach-ache. 

JULIA.  He's  always  having  them!  It's  his  elephan- 
tine appetite!  But  what  can  I  do?  I  must 
make  him  fat! 

HODGE.  Well,  you  been  a  true  mother,  there,  Julia ! 
Reminds  me  of  one  of  them  porpoise. 

WRAGG.  Hope  you're  making  him  a  good  patriot, 
Julia. 

JULIA  (fretfully).  Oh,  yes,  he  has  a  box  of  soldiers 
and  a  little  toy  sword.  But  he's  like  Alexan- 
der! He's  clamouring  for  catapults  already! 
And  he's  only  five ! 

HODGE.  Takes  after  his  father.  Lord,  how  that  man 
did  live !  He  died  of  cirrhosis,  Job. 

JULIA  (severely).  Pardon  me,  Algernon  favours  my 
family ! 

HODGE.     Oh,  I  don't  know !     That  mouth !  .  .  . 

[44] 


He  performs  an  expansive  flap  with  his 
hand. 

Wish  I  could  get  something  for  this  complaint 
of  mine !  I  might  wallow  in  the  bottomless  pit 
itself,  and  not  one  finger-tip  .  .  . 

No  Lazarus  forthcoming,  he  fluctuates 
back  to  Algernon. 

Does  he  keep  good  health? 

JULIA.  Health!  Barring  the  nightmares  and  his 
everlasting  tummy,  he's  vitality  itself!  Burst- 
ing with  it ! 

Only,  that's  what  I  say!  If  a  mother  doesn't 
understand  the  rearing  of  children,  who  does? 
I  may  be  ignorant  of  the  spinster  mollycoddlings 
of  the  days  of  Bruce;  but  I  am  a  mother!  I 
can  prove  that ! 

WRAGG.  Nevertheless,  Algernon's  gastric  miseries 
are  not  quite  .  .  . 

JULIA.  They  are  quite  as  relevant  as  your  contribu- 
tions to  the  occasion!  Surely  the  pangs  of  ma- 
ternity have  some  affinity  with  a  problem  in- 
volving offspring! 

HODGE  (at  the  window).  But  you  make  us  all  so 
tired ! 

[45] 


JULIA.  I'm  not  craving  an  audience !  If  you're  tired, 
yawn  at  the  scenery  1 

LlMP  (irascibly).  Yes,  but  we're  getting  nowhere! 
Nothing  but  ailments,  biblical  allusions,  and 
infantile  precocities ! 

She  squelches  him  with  blistering  polite- 
ness. 

JULIA.  Have  a  little  patience!  Job!  We  don't 
have  to  be  galloping  every  moment!  Even  if 
we're  not  jigging  our  legs,  our  souls  are  moving 
—  somewhere !  .  .  . 

She  flares  suddenly  to  her  fiercest  hate. 

Can't  you  understand,  that  we  are  simply  dan- 
gling on  her  convenience?  Wearing  our  hearts 
out,  whilst  that  vampire  bedizzens  herself  for 
him!  Oh,  we'll  get  there,  quickly  enough! 
Watch  that  stairway!  Do  you  know  what  I'll 
do?  Laugh!  Take  it  for  a  joke!  Watch! 
As  soon  as  ever  that  palsied  old  mannequin 
comes  crawling  .  .  .  • 

HODGE  (thoughtfully).  Tain't  a  crawl.  Not  really. 
Dodder's  the  word. 

WRAGG.     More  likely  to  be  a  cropper,  this  time.     I 
see,  she's  forgotten  her  cane. 
[46] 


HODGE.  And  Tommy's  down  on  dress.  She  won't 
make  much  hit  that  way. 

JULIA.  Don't  you  hate  her  eyes?  So  sly!  So  — 
snaky!  And  the  way  she  coils  those  withered 
white  locks  of  hers.  .  .  .  Ha !  I  suppose  she 
thinks  that's  fascinating! 

HODGE.  There's  one  thing  sure.  Face  shews  it! 
She's  not  long  for  this  world. 

JULIA.  Oh,  we  mustn't  let  her  do  that  yet !  Pomeroy, 
pick  up  the  cane. 

He  does  so,  and  .remains  standing. 

HODGE  (sepulchrally).  That  female  might  pass  any 
moment!  If  she  don't,  it'll  be  lunacies  and 
peculiar  dreams ! 

JULIA  (inwardly).     Yes,  I  wonder  what  she  dreams! 

HODGE.  Humph,  pleasant  weather  we're  having,  ain't 
it  ?  Sort  of  —  cloudy ! 

He  trumpets  this  in  the  manner  of  the 
Angel  Gabriel. 

For  Miss  BLISS  with  stately  gait  de- 
scends   the    stairs.     Her    hair    has 
changed  from  white  to  silvery  grey. 
[47] 


It  flows  softly  from  a  middle  parting, 
over  the  ears  to  a  coil  at  the  neck- 
She  is  dressed  in  a  delicate  lavender 
crepe  de  Chine,  daintily  frilled,  with 
a  fichu  of  white. 

JULIA  essays  her  laugh;  but  the  joke 
chokes  in  her  throat.  Only  the  sick- 
liest little  gurgle  escapes. 

WRAGG,  with  an  air  of  gallantry,  hastens 
forward  with  the  cane. 

WRAGG.     Here  you  are,  Miss  Bliss :  here  you  are ! 

BLISS.     No,   thank  you,    Pomeroy.     I    can   do   very 
nicely. 

And  she  sails  majestically  to  the  middle 
of  the  Hall.  She  speaks  with  the 
gentle  dignity  and  control  of  a  woman 
of  fifty-five. 

They  watch  her,  amazed.  JULIA  is 
petrified. 

The  children  await  Him  in  the  chapel.  I 
watched  them  through  the  window,  as  they 
passed.  They  shewed  like  trooping  angels. 
My  Blessed  One,  my  Beloved,  led  them,  her 
golden  pennon  streaming  on  the  wind  like  flame. 
[48] 


Then,  suddenly,  I  grew  ashamed.  Their 
glistering  robes  gleamed  so  spotless  beneath  the 
searching  day.  My  own  lay  close  at  hand:  it 
has  been  ready,  fifty  years.  .  .  .  Oh,  what  does 
it  matter,  what  does  old  age,  failure,  anything 
matter;  if  those  young  white  saints  out  yonder. 
...  So  I  put  on  this,  instead. 

Their  laughter  sounded  like  the  quivering  of 
sacring-bells :  their  footsteps  as  they  walked 
along,  like  the  pattering  of  penitential  tears. 

There  is  a  dis com for 'table  silence. 
Then  WRAGG  coughs,  and  offers  her 
the  chair. 

WRAGG.     Take  a  chair,  Miss  Bliss. 

BLISS  (sitting}.     Thank  you,  Pomeroy. 

HODGE  (soothingly).     There,  you'll  soon  be  all  right! 

Across  herf  he  warns  the  others  with 
equinoctial  privacy. 

Humour  her! 

BLISS.  Thank  you,  Timothy,  you  do:  remarkably. 
Mayhap,  I  shall  become  less  querulous,  as  I 
grow  younger. 

JULIA.     Art  won't  bring  that  about,  Mary  Bliss! 

[49] 


BLISS.     Oh,  but  it  can  help!     Beauty  is  half  the  vic- 
tory!    You  watch,  when  He  comes  .  .  . 

JULIA.    Ah !    As  I  thought ! 

She  settles  herself  stiffly  in  the  high- 
backed  bench.  WRAGG  and  HODGE 
are  on  the  other  side  of  Miss  BLISS. 
LIMP  comforts  his  liver  in  the  fire- 
place. 

BLISS.  And  now  at  last,  it  is  all  coming  true!  The 
flowers  will  blossom  as  before,  the  trees  will 
wave  their  high  branches,  the  little  brother 
birds  will  sing;  but  with  a  new  meaning.  It 
is  coming  so  quietly,  we  scarce  recognize  it. 
As  a  thief  in  the  night!  The  trumpets  of  it 
seem  far  off,  like  mustering  thunders.  But  it 
is  nigh  the  gates.  Presently,  we  shall  awake, 
and  find  the  old  things  done  away. 
And  to  think  that  it  is  a  fairy-tale  after  all ! 
All  magic  wishing !  All  wrought  and  fashioned 
out  of  dreams ! 

JULIA  (jumping).     Out  of  what? 

BLISS.     Dreams,  Julia.     The  very  stuff  God  is  made 

of!     Even  this  other  world  —  the  world  that 

is  vanishing  —  it  was  a  dream,  too.     One  that 

had  lost  its  channels,  become  clogged  up,  and 

[50] 


turned  to  self-destroying  nightmares.  Now  it 
is  passing  away.  We  are  recovering  our  lost 
infancy.  When  He  comes,  He  will  have  a 
deal  to  say  about  that.  It  will  make  us  under- 
stand sin  a  little  better.  It  will  make  us  more 
charitable,  more  pitiful. 

HODGE.  You  know,  Miss  Bliss,  you  hadn't  ought  to 
talk  of  God,  that  way.  How  would  you  like 
to  be  called  stuff?  What  do  you  say,  Julia. 

JULIA.     Presumptuous,  to  say  the  least ! 

BLISS  (humbly).  Well,  I  know  I  am  only  a  little  fool- 
ish old  woman.  But  I  have  seen  the  light. 

HODGE.  I  certainly  agree  with  one  thing  you  said. 
There's  great  changes  going  on.  The  world 
will  never  be  the  same  again.  I  said  that,  you 
know,  after  the  very  first  year  of  the  war. 

He  bites  his  nail,  pleased  with  his  per- 
spicacity. 

WRAGG.  Yes,  once  we  have  accomplished  our  peculiar 
cultural  aims,  and  called  a  Conference  repre- 
senting .  .  . 

LIMP.  Constitutionalism  for  one  thing,  I  hope;  and 
no  sops  to  radicalism! 


HODGE.     War  Investments  for  another;  and  none  to 

pacifists ! 

LIMP.     Property,  and  no  socialism! 

HODGE.  Home  Enterprise,  and  no  blooming  foreign- 
ers !  Nor  trades-unions ! 

WRAGG.  Why  then,  divinely  guided  and  adequately 
armed,  we  shall  make  the  world  safe  for 
democracy  forever! 

BLISS.     Yes,  He  will  make  all  things  new. 

HODGE.     Who?     Wragg?  ... 

BLISS.     Timothy!     Whom  are  we  expecting? 

HODGE.     Oh!  ... 

Well,  I  don't  know  about  new.  He's  a  bit  old- 
fashioned.  Though  he  generally  makes  things 
hum,  when  he  comes. 

BLISS.  There's  the  point.  We  must  make  ready  for 
Him.  Remember,  there  were  five  foolish  ones, 
whose  oil  ... 

JULIA.  No  need  to  fuss!  I've  made  all  prepara- 
tions! I  suppose  the  guest  room's  all  right? 

BLISS.     Oh,  that  is  always  swept  and  garnished.     But 
I  meant,   ready  in  ourselves.     In  our  hearts. 
[52] 


Ought  we  not  to  begin,  by  confessing  to  one 
another,  our  manifold  sins  and  wickedness? 

LIMP.     You  don't  find  me  confessing! 

JULIA.     I'm  not  a  Catholic ! 

WRAGG.     I  don't  mind  confessing  one.     I  play  poker. 

HODGE.     I  haven't  none.     They're  washed  away. 

BLISS.     Oh,  but  I  have.     I  committed  two,  only  this 
very  morning. 

They  strain  forward  eagerly   to  hear 
them. 

One  was  vanity.  Whilst  I  arrayed  me,  just 
now,  I  caught  myself  wondering  whether  He 
would  like  my  hair  attired  this  way. 

JULIA.     Well,  I  won't  say  anything!     But  I  happen 
to  know  his  opinion  on  that  subject ! 
Go  on. 

BLISS.     I  hardly  like  to  confess  the  other.     It  was 
one  of  the  deadly  ones. 

She  fumbles  with  her  handkerchief. 

JULIA.     Indeed !     We'd  like  to  hear  it  I 

[53] 


BLISS.     Oh,  yes,  I  will:  I  must!  .  .  . 

It  came  to  me  whilst  you  read  my  diary.     Sud- 
denly, wickedly,  I  —  I  didn't  want  you  to  do  it ! 

JULIA.     Oh!  .  .'. 

Her  interest  in  the  confession  evapo- 
rates. 

BLISS.  It  was  evil  pride !  My  penmanship  was  once 
as  beautiful  as  yours,  Julia.  I  imagined,  if 
you  saw  it  now,  when  my  poor  palsied 
hand  .  .  . 

She  breaks  off  abruptly.  She  is  gazing 
at  her  outstretched  hand  with  grow- 
ing wonder.  JULIA  glances  at  her 
sharply. 

JULIA.     Well?  ... 

BLISS.  Julia!  This  is  the  Lord's  doing!  It  is  made 
whole ! 

They  all  crane  forward,  curious. 
WRAGG.     Ton  my  word! 

BLISS.  And  then,  just  now,  my  cane!  Wonderful! 
I  feel  it  subtly  stealing  over  me  !  A  marvellous 
transformation ! 

[54l 


JULIA.  Yes,  I  noticed  that!  Especially  about  the 
hair! 

BLISS.     Te  Deum,  laudo! 
LIMP.     Auto-hypnotism ! 
JULIA.     Looks  queer  to  me ! 

And  she  sniffs  the  air  suspiciously. 
HODGE.     Wish  I  could  get  a  drop  for  my  heart! 

BLISS.  Hark!  Do  you  not  hear  a  sound?  One 
note!  And  the  whirring  of  chariot  wheels! 
Come,  let  us  go  forth  to  welcome  Him! 

She  rises  in  an  ecstasy.  HODGE  presses 
her  back  again,  with  the  tact  of  a 
rhinoceros. 

| 

HODGE.     Come  now,  be  calm,  be  calm !     He'll  be  here. 

When  do  you  expect  him,  Julia? 
JULIA.     He's  due  now.     And  not  a  moment  too  soon ! 
BLISS.     Listen!  .  .  . 

They  do  so,  straining  their  ears.     Miss 
BLISS  murmurs  as  in  a  trance. 

Ineffable ! 

[55] 


JULIA  (impatiently).  It's  nothing!  I  can't  think 
what's  hindering  him ! 

BLISS.     Hindering!  .  .  . 

She    slightly    materializes,    turning    to- 
wards her. 

WRAGG.     Perhaps  he's. being  held  up  by  the  policemen. 

She   entirely    materializes,    turning    to- 
wards him. 

BLISS.     Policemen!  .  .  . 

WRAGG.  Well,  he's  a  pretty  high  speeder;  and  with 
all  these  cuowds  in  the  streets  .  .  . 

BLISS.     What!     Have  they  begun  to  rise  already? 

And  she  is  back  in   the  heavens   once 
more. 

WRAGG.  Well,  at  this  hour,  yes!  I'd  have  spoken 
myself;  only  ...  I  organized  the  recruiting, 
you  see. 

But  it'll  be  a  grand  spectacle!  Flags  and 
drums!  Three  great  funeral  marches  by  the 
band !  A  captured  dirigible !  Cannon !  And 
afterwards,  full-dress  military  thanksgivings  in 
the  cathedral. 

[56] 


Miss  BLISS  looks  about  her  bewilder- 
edly. 

BLISS.     What  are  you  talking  about,  Pomeroy? 

WRAGG.  The  Memorial  Service,  of  course!  For 
the  dead  that  have  fallen  in  the  war. 

BLISS.     Dead!     Do  we  talk  of  death  today?  .  .  . 

WRAGG.  Well,  it's  not  altogether  inappropriate,  is 
it?  If  this  isn't  the  day  of  death,  what  is? 

HODGE.     I  agree  with  you,  Pom. 

JULIA.     Everybody  does,  who  isn't  impervious! 

BLISS.  Oh,  how  blind  I  have  been!  Of  course,  I 
see!  You,  who  dwell  in  the  counsels  of  the 
Most  High,  you  have  made  ready,  you  are 
prepared!  Only  I,  in. my  darkness,  haye  dwelt 
aloof!  Of  course,  of  course!  I  should  have 
remembered  Lazarus !  And  that  young  man, 
the  only  son  of  his  mother  —  the  widow  ...  I 
see!  .  .  . 

He  will  appear  then,  in  the  midst  of  all  that 
stricken  multitude  yonder;  and  calmly,  maje'sti- 
cally,  with  one  awful  word  of  power  .  .  . 

HODGE.  Come,  he's  not  a  megaphone!  He's  voice 
enough !  But  not  to  grapple  with  a  crowd  like 
that! 

[57] 


BLISS.  Not  Voice  enough!  The  Word  Eternal  go- 
ing out  from  the  Father ! 

HODGE.  Can't  you  believe?  After  all,  he's  only 
human ! 

BLISS.  No,  no,  that's  heresy!  There  is  that  Other 
Side!  And  you  know  what  the  Creed  says 
about  that. 

HODGE  (disgusted).     Well,  you  expect  miracles! 

BLISS.  Undoubtedly!  The  greatest  miracle  of  all! 
Don't  you? 

JULIA  rises,  utterly  exasperated. 

JULIA.  Mary  Bliss,  have  you  no  mortal  notion  in  your 
transfigured  head,  of  ordinary  earthly  limita- 
tions? Do  come  out  of  the  clouds!  This  isn't 
a  Manhatma,  we're  expecting!  It's  a  plain 
two-legged  man  of  God,  running  a  revival. 

BLISS.  Exactly  what  I  say!  Revival:  a  making  alive 
again.  From  the  Latin,  you  know. 

HODGE.  You  get  such  rum  ideas  about  people.  Have 
you  ever  seen  him? 

Buss  (wistfully).  Not  face  to  face!  But,  of  course, 
the  pictures  .  .  . 

[58] 


JULIA.  They're  totally  misleading!  Either  comic 
travesties  by  the  cartoonists ;  or  touched-up  hor- 
rors of  himself  and  family  by  the  photogra- 
phers. 

BLISS.  I  think  that  large  one  of  Himself  and  Family 
by  Raphael  in  the  Louvre  .  .  . 

HODGE.  If  you  mean  the  one  with  little  Johnny  doing 
the  pious  at  the  back  of  him,  it  ain't  a  bit  like 
him.  That  was  only  for  sale. 

BLISS.  I  know  He  will  be  different  from  anything  I 
ever  dreamed !  I  am  anticipating  that. 

HODGE.     You  bet !     He  surprises  everybody. 
BLISS.     Yes,  He  always  did. 

LIMP.  Hadn't  you  better  tell  her  precisely  what's 
your  game? 

JULIA.  Perfectly  useless!  You  see  her  mental  con- 
dition! That  stuff  she  has  been  taking,  I  sup- 
pose! 

BLISS.  I  know  my  mind  is  very  dark.  What  stuff? 
I  have  taken  nothing  but  the  Blessed  Sacrament, 
all  morning. 

JULIA.  You  know  what  stuff !  That  stuff  for  palsied 
hands  1 

[59] 


BLISS.  How  thankless  of  me!  That  heavenly 
draught!  .  .  . 

I  perceive   I  am  still  unready.     Instruct  me, 
Julia. 

See,  I  will  obey  you  like  a  simple  child. 

JULIA  regards  her  with  a  quick  search- 
ing look. 

JULA.     Obey!     Me?  .  .  . 

BLISS.     As  His  chosen  one.     The  revelation  came  to 
you.     You  were  the  first  of  all  the  elect. 
Tell   me,    how    did    His    Messenger    appear? 
Like  a  dream,  softly?     Or  in  shining  light? 

JULIA.     Messenger!     What  messenger? 

BLISS.  The  Messenger  that  brought  unto  you  His 
word  last  night. 

JULIA.  Don't  play  the  hypocritical  innocent !  All  the 
world  knows  the  appearance  of  a  messenger! 

BLISS.  All  the  world!  They  are  everyone  of  them 
awake  but  me !  Had  he  —  from  his  shoulders 
—  you  know  ?  .  .  . 

JULIA.     I  don't  know  what  uniform  he  wore !     I  was 
busy  picking  the  lobster  for  Algernon.     The 
[60] 


maid  answered  the  door,  and  brought  me  the 
message.     Just  nine  words. 

BLISS.  As  simply  as  that!  And  His  Messenger! 
That  is  how  He  Himself  will  come  1  And  in 
unexpected  guise !  .  .  . 

Nine!  .  .  . 

The  mystic  number  thrills  her  with  re- 
membrances of  Dante. 

What  were  they? 
JULIA.     Pump  up  the  pigskin.     Kick  off  at  ten  prompt. 

BLISS.  Yes,  most  unexpected.  I  must  school  myself 
for  that. 

HODGE.  You'll  never  martage.  He  springs  a  new 
one  on  you  every  time. 

BLISS  (nodding  her  head).  Yes,  I'm  learning.  I 
must  not  be  presumptuous  and  make  remarks. 
He  is  not  a  little  schoolboy. 

WRAGG.  And  another  thing!  Keep  silent  about 
those  flags.  He's  patriotic. 

BLISS.     Is  He?     Why? 

WRAGG.     He's  one  of  us. 

[61] 


BLISS.  I  thought  we  were  one  of  Him.  Five,  I  mean, 
of  course. 

JULIA.  Don't  split  hairs !  —  Whatever  else  you 
choose  to  do  with  them !  He'll  have  something 
to  say  to  you  about  that!  And  about  your 
educational  ideas ! 

HODGE.     And  about  dancing ! 
JULIA.     And  about  Dafty ! 

HODGE.  And  play-acting!  He'll  have  a  lot  to  say 
about  play-acting ! 

Miss  BLISS  glances  pathetically  from 
one  to  the  other,  as  they  stab  her  right 
and  left. 

BLISS.  I  know  I  have  been  very  remiss.  Of  course,  I 
have  tried  to  do  my  duty.  But  one's  best  is 
only  filthy  rags. 

HODGE.  There's  just  one  thing  about  him.  You'd 
better  be  on.  If  he  gets  nosing  into  your  money 
affairs  .  .  . 

How  much  of  old  Nick's  fortune  have  you  left, 
by  the  bye  ? 

BLISS  (guilelessly).  I  don't  know.  I  have  never 
counted. 

[62] 


HODGE.     Well,  don't.     I'll  watch  that  for  you. 

BLISS.     Thank  you,  Timothy !  . 

Of  course,  I  don't  know.  I  have  always  held 
by  the  Larger  Hope,  myself;  and  still  do,  for 
all  living  souls.  Even  Satan,  poor  thing.  But 
I  have  an  awful  fear  for  myself  that,  after  all, 
I  shall  be  damned. 

She  contemplates  this  doom  with  deep 
solemnity.  Then  her  face  lightens 
with  sudden  joy. 

Ah,  but  He  will  love  my  babies ! 
JULIA  (omi no usly).     Time  will  shew ! 

BLISS  (radiantly).  Nay,  eternity!  And  when  He 
finds  them  waiting  yonder  in  the  chapel,  a  little 
flower-garden  all  in  white;  and  amidmost  of 
them  that  precious  Heart  of  Gold  .  .  . 

She  is  interrupted  by  the  raucous  toot  of 
an  automobile,  followed  by  the  grind- 
ing whir  of  wheels  upon  the  gravel 
outside. 

Oh!  ... 

They  all  rise  hurriedly  to  their  feet. 

I  never  dreamed  that  it  would  sound  like  that  1 
[63] 


She  remains  standing  in  the  middle  of 
the  hall,  her  hands  uplifted  like  the 
Blessed  Strain's  at  the  moment  of 
Annunciation. 

HODGE,  WRAGG  and  JULIA  rush  jubi- 
lantly to  the  window,  and  look  out. 
LIMP  still  hugs  his  gangrene  in  the 
fireplace. 

HODGE.     Do  you  see  ?     That's  him  in  the  togs ! 
BLISS.     My  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord! 

JULIA.     Look  at  his  car!     Red  as  blood!     But  how 
appropriate ! 

BLISS.     My  spirit  hath  rejoiced  in  God,  my  Saviour! 

WRAGG.     And  the  flags !     Simply  smothered  in  them ! 
What  a  patriot ! 

BLISS.     For  He  hath  regarded  the  lowliness  of  His 
handmaiden! 

And  for  one  moment,  she  beholds  the 
Beatific  Vision. 

If  required,  the  Curtain  may  descend  at 
this  point. 

THE   END   OF   THE    SECOND   ACT 
[64] 


THE  THIRD  ACT 

The  Scene  and  the  Situation  remain  unchanged. 
JULIA,  WRAGG  and  HODGE  are  still  at  the  window; 
LIMP,  in  the  fireplace.  Miss  BLISS,  with  hands  up- 
lifted, abides  in  ecstasy.  After  a  moment  she  sinks 
back  into  her  seat.  Her  hair  has  turned  distinctly 
darker.  She  has  now  the  poise  and  manner  of  a  woman 
of  forty-five. 

JULIA.  They've  taken  him  to  the  Guest  Room :  so 
that's  all  right!  Now,  Job,  Timothy,  Pom- 
eroy,  let's  get  busy.  I  have  full  instructions. 
He's  dressed.  Already  got  his  what-d'you-call- 
it  on.  By  the  time  he  has  combed  and  brushed 
his  .  .  . 

Bustling  down,  she  halts  abruptly,  glar- 
ing at  Miss  BLISS.  She  tours  around 
her:  afterwards  glancing  suspiciously 
about  the  hall. 

Come,  Mary  Bliss,  we  can't  have  you  posing 
there,  looking  like  Madame  Somebody's  Hair 
Restorer  I     He'll  want  the  centre  of  the  .  .  . 
[65] 


BLISS.     Naturally!     How  thoughtless! 


JULIA.    Ah ! 


She  walks  meditatively  towards  the  win- 
dow. There  she  picks  a  pink  rose 
from  the  bowl  on  the  table,  and  fixes 
it  in  her  corsage.  JULIA  watches  her 
every  moment. 


Meanwhile,  WRAGG  and  HODGE  range 
helplessly  at  the  back  of  the  hall. 


Pomeroy,  move  that  chair. 

He  does  so,  listlessly,  a  little  to  the  left. 
Now,  Timothy !     Wind  the  talking  machine. 

HODGE.     And  what  about  my  heart?     Job,  you! 

-  v  • 

LIMP.     Haven't  I  a  liver? 
WRAGG.     It's  in  my  spine,  I  ... 

LIMP.     Oh,  shut  up !  .  ...  . 

Isn't  it  enough,  having  to  endure  his  coming, 
without  listening  to  the  last  rattlings  of  sen- 
ility? 

He  stirs  the  fire.     WRAGG  watches  him 
woebegonely.     HODGE,   with   a   bad 
[66] 


grace  and  many  grimaces ,  sees  to  the 
machine. 

WRAGG.  But  it  has  been  coming  on  steadily  all  morn- 
ing! 

LIMP.     Mine's  never  off !     And  it  grows ! 
HODGE.     Mine's  the  limit! 

JULIA.  Now,  Job;  hymn  books!  Bottom  of  the 
stairs. 

He  goes  reluctantly,  and  brings  them. 
Timothy !  Collection  plate ! 

He  goes  with  alacrity.  And  keeps  it. 
There's  your  place,  Mary  Bliss! 

Miss  BLISS  meekly  resumes  her  chair. 

BLISS.  Now  that  at  last  it  is  about  to  happen,  it 
seems  the  most  ordinary  circumstance  in  the 
world.  Nothing  appears  different!  .  Here  we 
all  are,  just  the  same  little  group  of  loving 
friends,  going  about  our  happy  daily  business; 
and  presently  —  He  will  come!  Is  not  life 
beautiful? 

[67] 


JULIA  distributes  the  hymn  books.  She 
then  appropriates  the  middle  of  the 
high-backed  bench,  motioning  LIMP 
to  the  faldstool,  HODGE  to  her  right, 
and  WRAGG  to  her  left. 

JULIA.     Job,  sit  down.     Timothy!     Pomeroy!  .  .  . 
Now  we  can  start  at  once. 

She  opens  her  book.  Her  voice  assumes 
a  certain  unctuousity,  as  she  an- 
nounces. 

M'yes!     Hymn  number  one:  the  first  hymn, 
please.     Timothy,  start  the  melody. 

BLISS.     What  quaint  little  hymn  books !     So  —  red ! 

HODGE.  That's  Johnny !  Since  he's  bagged  the  hymn 
book  privilege,  he's  made  things  boom.  The 
paper's  punk;  but  they  sell  like  sin. 

JULIA.     Hymn  number  one !     The  first  hymn,  please! 

LIMP.  Yes,  but  look  here,  Julia !  You  can't  go  stick- 
ing measly  books  before  us,  demanding  song, 
in  this  high-handed  manner ! 

JULIA.  He  has  to  be  worked  up,  hasn't  he?  I'm 
only  following  instructions !  He'll  never  make 
his  entrance,  unless  he's  properly  worked  up. 
He  never  does. 

[68] 


LIMP.     Worked  up  ? 

JULIA.  Perfectly  simple!  It's  what  they  do  at  the 
theatres !  You  tickle  the  audience  with  expecta- 
tion: then,  just  before  the  hero  enters,  you  give 
them  a  patriotic  air  or  something.  Naturally, 
they  mistake  their  emotion  for  his  magnetism, 
and  he  .  .  . 

She    searches    for   a   phrase.     HODGE 
finds  it. 

HODGE.     Cops  the  lot ! 

JULIA.  Exactly!  Entire  reputations  have  been  built 
that  way. 

LIMP.  Have  they?  Well,  there'll  be  no  vicarious 
magnetism  from  me,  that's  flat! 

JULIA.  I'm  not  asking  magnetism!  I'm  only  asking 
you  to  sing! 

LIMP.     Then  I  won't ! 

JULIA.  You're  here,  you're  musical,  it's  good  for  the 
liver,  and  you've  got  to ! 

LIMP.     If  I  do,  may  I  sizzle  in  ... 

JULIA  (severely).  Thank  you!  We  will  leave  that 
word  for  him! 

[69] 


HODGE.  Me  and  Wragg'll  do.  He's  a  crow's  voice, 
anyway ! 

LIMP.     Ha!  ... 

//  is  a  snort  of  contempt.     But  he  be- 
thinks him. 

Crow,  eh?  .  .  . 

And  darting  venom  at  HODGE,  he  rips 
open  the  book,  and  joins  the  choir. 

JULIA.     Now!     We  will  unite  in  singing,  if  you  please, 
hymn  number  .  .  . 
Oh!     Algernon!  .  .  . 

HODGE.     What  about  him? 

JULIA.  Nurse  was  to  bring  him  to  the  chapel.  Last 
night's  lobster  so  depressed  him  I  thought  per- 
haps the  revival  .  .  . 

BLISS  (rising).     Oh,  do  let  me  fetch  Dafty! 
JULIA.     Dafty! 

BLISS.     Yes,  he's  our  spiritual  adviser,  you  know;  and 
so  amusing!     I  think  I'd  like  him  to  see  these 
odd  little  books.     He'd  have  something  quite 
bright  to  say  about  them,  I'm  sure. 
[70] 


JULIA.     Certainly  not!     We're  here  to  educate,  not 
amuse ! 
Come,  let  us  join  together  .  .  . 

DAFTY  pops  in  from  the  Scullery,  a 
fiddle  in  his  hand. 

DAFTY.  Here  I  am,  ma'am!  Just  put  my  ear  to  the 
door,  to  spy  where  you  were !  Can't  stop,  kids 
expecting  me,  I'll  come  later.  Oh,  we  are  hav- 
ing such  fun  in  the  chapel ! 

JULIA.  Fun  in  the  chapel!  I  never  did  in  all  my 
days  .  .  . 

DAFTY.  No,  ma'am,  you  never  did!  Frolic! 
They're  making  the  House  of  the  Lord  ring 
again!  Quite  like  old  times!  First  it  was 
blind  man's  buff !  Then  I  started  them  Gath- 
ering Nuts  and  May  up  in  the  chancel!  Then 
honey-pots!  And  now,  the  Golden  Child  has 
got  herself  up  in  a  surplice,  and  is  taking  off 
Parson  Glibspit  from  the  pulpit!  Lordy,  how 
she  can  act !  And  language !  Real  preacher's 
pow-wow,  mind  you,  without  the  time-serving! 
All  about  miracles  and  the  millennium ! 

Well,  I  must  skedaddle!  Just  back  for  my 
fiddle,  that's  all!  Promised  them  a  jig!  Hey 
cockalorum !  Such  a  lark ! 


And  with  a  cut  and  a  caper,  he  scrapes 
himself  out. 

JULIA'S    composure   is    like    the   arctic 
north. 

LIMP.     Well,  I  don't  see  how  these  interruptions  are 
going  to  help  his  entrance ! 

JULIA  responds  with  a  distant  wintry 
smile. 

JULIA.     We  shall  see !     Timothy,  may  I  trouble  you, 
olease? 


please? 


But  she  cannot  keep  this  up  long.     Her 
next  remark  rages  forth  like  a  sirocco. 


Hymn  one! 


HODGE  operates,  and  the  machine  grinds 
out  the  hymn  refrain  in  shattering 
rag-time  blasts. 

They  begin  singing  in  unison,  HODGE 
and  LIMP  glowering,  each  intent  on 
bellowing  the  other  down.  At  the 
end  of  the  first  'verse,  HODGE  puts  in 
a  tenor.  Not  to  be  outdone,  LIMP 
in  the  second,  retaliates  with  bass. 
Ambitious  of  alto,  WRAGG  later  soars 

[72] 


to  falsetto.  The  women  contribute 
treble,  Miss  BLISS  dropping  out  with 
a  scared  face,  after  the  first  few  lines; 
and  their  raptures  culminate  in  a  four- 
part  chorus  of  JULIA  and  the  men. 

CHOIR.     Com6,  rouse  your  lungs  and  crack  your  ribs, 

Revival's  hymn  to  swell : 
We  offer  heaven:  the  guy  that  jibs, 

We  give  to  burning  hell. 

Rejoice!     Rejoice!     In  his  sinful  fat,  he  fries! 
The  savour  of  him  smokes  aloft:  we  smell  him 
in  the  skies ! 

BLISS.     Don't  you  think  the  sentiment  a  little  .  .  . 
CHOIR.     Ssh!  .  .  . 

And  the  refrain  blares  onward,  belching 
into  hymn; 

We've  closed  the  gambling  joints  and  clubs, 

We  brighten  where  we  are : 
The  damned  blink  up  like  weary  dubs, 

And  lamp  us  from  afar. 

Rejoice !  Rejoice !     In  their  sinful  fat,  they  fry ! 
They  frizzle  and  the  juice  spits  up:  we  taste 
them  in  the  sky ! 

BLISS.     Saint  Gregory  maintained  .  .  i 

[73] 


JULIA  (staccato ) .     His  —  own  —  words !     Sing ! 

Miss  BLISS  bows  humbly;  but  her  mind 
will  stray  back  to  the  Council  of  Con- 
stantinople. Meanwhile,  more  hymn 
disgorging,  her  fellows  return  to  their 
feast; 

CHOIR.     They  hoist  the  booze,  they  dance,  they  swear, 

Their  godless  playhouse  packs; 
But  now  we've  got  the  doughnuts  where 

The  chicken  got  the  axe. 

Rejoice !  Rejoice !     In  their  sinful  fat,  they  fry ! 
They  roast  like  sacrificial  goats:  we'll  eat  them 
by  and  bye ! 

During  the  last  verse,  THE  REVEREND 
TOMMY  TRAIL,  clad  in  immaculate 
football  costume  striped,  comes  jaunt- 
ing down  the  stairs.  He  is  a  red- 
faced  man  with  huge  clutching  paws 
and  a  sardonic  grin.  He  has  mim- 
icked Satan  so  long,  he  rather  resem- 
bles him. 

HODGE,  WRAGG  and  JULIA  settle  them- 
selves with  the  delighted  anticipation 
of  the  already  comfortably  saved. 
LIMP  looks  on,  in  the  manner  of  Mis- 
souri. Miss  BLISS  sits  with  eyes 
[74] 


downcast,  trembling,  never  once  dar- 
ing to  look  round.  TRAIL  is  a  Voice 
to  her,  no  more.  As  he  begins  to 
speak,  she  essays  to  rise,  but  her  knees 
fail  her. 

TRAIL'S  accent  is  less  purely  though 
more  markedly  American,  than  that 
prevalent,  say,  in  Boston. 

TRAIL.  Warm  up,  warm  up,  you  bunch  of  soda-foun- 
tain freezers !  That's  not  the  way  to  handle  a 
hymn!  Geraround  it!  Geraway  with  it! 
Biff !  Whiz  it  into  goal !  Some  of  you  sissi- 
fied  guys  have  no  more  kick  in  your  souls  than 
hocked  fleas.  Aunt  Lizzie  there,  for  example ! 

BLISS.     Elizabeth !  .  .  . 

And  she  beholds  the  sainted  cousin  of  the 
Fir  gin. 

TRAIL.  You!  You!  Old  Lavender  Crepe-de-chine 
with  the  flower  in  your  chest !  It's  roaring,  not 
roses,  gains  the  Throne  of  Grace !  Cough  up, 
you  four-flusher! 

JULIA.     Such  discernment!     He  spots  her  directly! 

BLISS.  Lord,  I  am  but  an  ignorant,  sinful  woman,  and 
very  foolish.  I  —  don't  understand. 

[75] 


TRAIL  (mimicking  her).  Language  don't  suit,  eh? 
Too  coarse  and  vulgah!  See  here!  I  learned 
my  language  way  back  in  the  little  home  town 
where  I  was  raised;  and  my  little  home  town 
is  some  conversationalist,  berlieve  muh !  My 
language  has  been  good  enough  to  wake  up 
Philadelphia :  it's  been  good  enough  for  Colo- 
rado-Grubb;  good  enough  for  every  knock- 
kneed,  sheep-jowled,  rabbit-gutted  minister  in 
the  land  of  the  brave  and  the  free;  and  I  guess 
it'll  do  for  you ! 

BLISS.  I  hope  I  may  improve,  Lord.  I  thought  may- 
hap it  was  Aramaic. 

TRAIL.  Now,  curitout!  It  was  Number  One  Brand 
Up-to-date  Revivalistic  U.  S.  A. ;  and  don't  you 
f orgerit !  Are  you  saved  ? 

BLISS.     I  fear  not,  Lord. 
TRAIL.     Then  you're  damned! 

Miss  BLISS  crosses  herself,  closing  her 
eyes  in  dumb  agony.  After  a  mo- 
ment,  she  falters; 

BLISS.  Amen,  Lord.  I  will  try  to  bear  it.  Thank 
you. 

TRAIL.     Bear  it !     This  isn't  pink  teas  and  frizzy  hair ! 
What   is   it?     Theatres?     Cocktails?     Shake- 
[76] 


speare  and  the  Lady  of  the  Lake?     Nit!     It's 
hell! 

JULIA.     Such  fire ! 
BLISS.     Yea,  Lord. 

TRAIL.     Lord!  .  .  . 

Say,  what's  the  handout?     Put  me  wise,  Pud- 
dingface. 

HODGE  ( histrionically ) .  Peculiar !  Top  story !  You 
know! 

TRAIL.     Got  you,  Stephano ! 

BLISS.     Stephen !     They  are  all  here ! 

She    gazes    before    her,    as    in    vision. 
TRAIL  watches  her  interestedly. 

TRAIL.  Acts  kind  of  bughouse,  don't  she?  Only,  see 
here!  I  didn't  come  to  seek  and  to  save  sana- 
toriums.  They  have  to  be  opulent  high-brow 
stiffs  with  pork  in  their  blocks,  to  get  me. 

JULIA.  Oh,  but  you  must !  You  were  engaged  to  save 
her! 

TRAIL  (turning).     Who's  Sister  Buttinsky? 

JULIA.     Who's  who?  .  .  . 

[77] 


He  grins  at  her  humourless  Etiropean- 
ism,  and  motions  to  WRAGG. 

TRAIL.     Wield  the  jawbone,  Samson! 
WRAGG.     This  is  Mrs.  Manners. 

JULIA.  Yes,  we've  corresponded,  you  know.  Did 
you  get  my  .  .  . 

TRAIL.  You  betcha !  Say,  that  sum  was  for  salvation 
only,  Delusive  of  expenses.  Glad  to  meecha : 
take  this  one!  .  .  . 

He  thrusts  at  her  his  great  left  paw. 

Those  rubber-neck  crape-heads  in  the  square 
have  fondled  the  other  to  a  frazzle!  Took  a 
collection,  and  gave  them  my  Lazarus,  come 
forth!  Ever  see  me  do  that  stunt?  Takes 
some  pep,  representing  the  stone  and  all  1 

HODGE.  That  the  one  where  you  tell  them,  Colorado- 
Grubb  stands  four-square  for  the  New  Jerusa- 
lem? 

TRAIL.  No,  you  got  it  all  wrong:  that  was  the  other 
Lazarus!  Gee,  they  swallowed  it!  Biggest 
hit  I've  made  since  Bethany,  way  back  in  God's 
Own  Country!  And  the  crape-heads  weeping 
buckets ! 

[78] 


He  roars  with  the  remembrance  of  his 
triumph. 

I  left  Johnny  to  it.  He  savvied  a  chance  of  go- 
ing about  his  father's  business,  and  dropped  off 
with  a  bundle  of  hymns.  Say,  that's  some  kid! 
He's  putting  it  over  all  right,  all  right !  He'll 
be  here,  when  he's  through. 

BLISS  (fearfully).     Which  — John? 

TRAIL.  Why,  mine!  My  own  particular!  There's 
only  one. 

BLISS.  The  Beloved!  Oh,  he  will  speak  for  me! 
He  is  wise,  he  will  understand ! 

TRAIL.  Say,  that's  not  so  bughouse!  Appreciating 
Johnny  shews  some  bean.  Maybe,  I'll  snatch 
her  from  the  burning  yet. 

BLISS.     Lord!  .  .  . 

TRAIL.     Well,  what  is  it?     Tango,  cards,  liquor?  .  .  . 

HODGE.     In  this  place ! 

TRAIL.  Wash  the  marrer  with  her?  Why  don't  she 
speak?  Who  is  the  mutt,  anyway? 

JULIA.     Why,  she's  the  woman !     You  remember,  old 
Nicholas  Biggs  .  .  . 
[79] 


HODGE    interposes    a    loud    cautioning 
cough;  but  too  late.     TRAIL  is  on. 

TRAIL.     What!     The  millionairess!  .  .  . 
HODGE.     Humph,  fine  weather,  we're  .  .  . 

And  WRAGG  murmurs  something  about 
rain. 

TRAIL.  Now,  curout  the  barometer  stuff !  Curitout, 
see!  This  is  business!  Here's  a  poor  perish- 
ing cocoa-sodden  daff,  hollering  for  bread;  and 
you  hand  out  hunks  of  cold  storage  about  the 
weather!  Leave  this  to  muh!  . 


JULIA  I 

WRAGG  L  ( together) .  -| 

HODGE  J 


That's  all  very  well ;  but  you 
Yes,  but  look  here,  I  say  .  . 
'Taint  good  enough :  we  .  . 


TRAIL.     Hold  off,  you  grafters!  .  .  . 

He  executes  a  football  manoeuvre  with 
a  hop,  rush,  and  a  slide,  landing  neatly 
beside  Miss  BLISS. 

Say,  Ma !  Don't  you  listen  to  them !  They're 
only  a  bunch  of  red-headed,  starch-necked 
crooks  and  wind-jammers,  anyway!  Listen  to 
muh!  Only  berlieve!  Only  berlieve!  And 
I'll  yank  you  into  glory  in  half  a  jiff ! 
[80] 


BLISS.     Oh,  but  my  sins!    My  vain  pride!    Betrayals! 
TRAIL.     That's  the  way!     Stir  'em  up,  Ma! 

BLISS.  My  life  of  fruitless  half-intentions!  Doubts! 
Despairs ! 

TRAIL.  You  gorit,  Ma!  Stick  your  feet  in  the 
tr«o.ugh!  Roll  yourself  over  in  it! 

BLISS.     My  iniquities ! 

TRAIL.  It's  berrer  to  have  them!  It's  berrer!  Or 
you  don't  get  the  berlood !  Only  berlieve,  only 
berlieve,  you  lobster,  and  your  sins  will  pass  — 
kerplunk !  —  like  Gadarene  swine.  You  may 
look  the  same !  You  may  act  the  same !  These 
guys  here,  and  your  neighbours  may  never  see 
the  difference  !  But  only  berlieve,  and  you'll  be 
whiter  than  snow ! 

BLISS.     Lord,  I  believe!     Help  Thou  mine  unbelief! 

JULIA.  Mary  Bliss!  Do  you  realize  what  you  are 
quoting? 

TRAIL.     Beat  it,  Sourface  1     I'm  boss  here ! 
HODGE.     Yes,  but  .  .  > 

TRAIL.     Now,  Carrots !  .  .  . 

Ataboy !     Work  it  up,  Ma !     Gerabit  of  punch 
[81] 


into  it !  Rah-rah-rah !  —  Tackle !  Don't  you 
see  the  light?  Think  of  Home  and  Mothuhr! 
Don't  you  hear  your  Mothuhr  calling  to  you? 
Think  of  your  poor  old  Daddy's  silvery  hairs, 
the  village  homestead!  Remember  little  Wil- 
lie's dying  words ! 

WRAGG,  HODGE  and  JULIA  cannot  bear 
up  against  this.  They  take  out  their 
handkerchiefs  and  mop  their  eyes. 
Meanwhile,  TRAIL  addresses  his  de- 
ity; 

Look  at  her,  Fathuhr!  Can't  squeeze  a  tear! 
Dry  as  a  prohibition  state ! 

He  turns  upon  her  savagely,  dancing, 
gesticulating,  foaming  with  inspira- 
tion; 

Can't  you  gerabit  of  fear  inside  of  you?  Don't 
you  smell  the  pitch  and  brimstone?  You'd 
berrer !  You'd  berrer !  Or  you  won't  be  saved 
by  me !  Don't  you  see  the  licking  flames,  the 
red-hot  lake,  the  worm  undying,  and  old  Beel- 
zebub hopping  about  and  watching  for  you? 
Rah-rah-rah!  Tackle!  Boom!  Boodle!  Boost! 
Geewhiz  !  Can't  you  see  him? 

She  is  not  looking;  but  everybody  else 
can. 

[82] 


BLISS.  I  behold,  at  is  were,  three  Blessed  Shapes! 
Elizabeth,  and  Stephen,  and  that  Beloved  One ! 

TRAIL.     Saints   won't  help    any!     There's   only   one 

way !  —  Mine  !  Wrestle,  you  dub !     Get  your 

heart  jumping!  Make  it  burn  and  bubble  like 
a  clambake ! 

BLISS.  Yes,  yes!  A  glow,  a  strange  warmth!  And 
with  it,  a  deeping  unutterable  peace ! 

TRAIL  (quickly).  You  don't  get  peace  yet!  Not  till 
after  the  .  .  . 

BLISS.     But  I  do !     It's  the  truth !     I  do ! 

TRAIL.  Then,  if  you  do,  it's  Satan,  and  you're 
damned !  It's  not  peace :  it's  terruhr,  you  want ! 
Terruhr!  Terruhr!  Can't  you  understand 
the  word  ?  —  T-E-R-R-O-R,  terruhr !  Get  it  in 
your  heart!  Get  it  in  your  livuhr!  Get  it  in 
your  nuhrves,  your  spine,  you  dough-nut!  .  .  . 

LIMP  and  the  saved  sh?w  signs  of  un- 
derstanding. 

BLISS.     But  I  don't!     I  cannot  lie!     I  don't! 

TRAIL.  Then  I  give  you  up !  You're  a  goner !  You, 
your  ox,  your  ass,  your  man-servant  and  your 
maid-servant,  your  autos  and  your  grand  pianos 

[83] 


• — yes,  and  all  your  pap-soused  infidel  un- 
spanked  babies,  too !  —  shall  perish  in  the  pit  of 
fiuhr! 

BLISS.     Oh!  ... 

She  rises,  tense  with  some  deep  thought, 
not  yet  made  clear.  TRAIL  mistakes 
the  action,  and  pounces  on  her  at 
once; 

TRAIL.     Hold  that!     Hold  it  tight!     Hold  it  with 
your  teeth!     Wow!     Gorher!  .  .  . 
Now,  we'll  take  the  collection.     Where's  the 
dipper? 

HODGE.     That's  me.     I'm  usher! 

But  TRAIL  restrains  him,  capturing 
the  alms-dish. 

TRAIL.    Nix ! 

HODGE  (reproachfully).     I'm  a  Baptist! 

He  crawls  abjectly  to  his  seat. 

They  all  watch  TRAIL  earnestly,  as  he 
approaches  Miss  BLISS.  She  is  gaz- 
ing straight  before  her.  He  gently 
insinuates  the  alms-dish  into  view. 

[84] 


TRAIL.     Now,  Ma ! 

She  answers  with  slow,  bitter  irony; 

BLISS.  And  whence  is  this  to  me?  Thine  is  the  king- 
dom, the  power  and  the  glory !  All  that  I  have 
is  Thine ! 

This  sends  a  shiver  around  the  Hall. 
TRAIL.     All!     Will  you  put  that  down  on  paper? 

BLISS.  My  handwriting  is  a  little  shaky.  But  I  will. 
In  letters  of  fire ! 

TRAIL  sends  the  alms-dish  spinning  to 
HODGE. 

TRAIL.     Here,  take  it,  Rufus !     Put  her  thar ! 

He  proffers  the  frazzled  paw.  But 
Miss  BLISS  does  not  see  it.  She  is 
looking  into  deep  abysses. 

The  others  start  up  in  violent  expostula- 
tion; 

WRAGG  1  |Tm  darned,  if  he  ... 

JULIA      I  (together). !HG —  shall  —  not  ... 
HODGE  [Of  all  the  swindling  .  .  . 

TRAIL.  Hold  off,  you  panhandlers !  Heard  the  chink 
of  gold,  did  you?  See  here,  I'm  come  to  save 

[85] 


this  soul,  not  you!  And  I'll  save  it,  or  bust! 
.  .  .  Keep  to  it,  Ma!  I'm  with  you!  Arma- 
geddon'll  have  nothing  on  me,  by  the  time  I'm 
through !  Say,  this  is  to  be  one  big  bout,  stakes 
down,  between  the  Dragon  and  the  Lamb  !  Get 
her  going,  do  you  hear?  Rah-rah-rah!  Biff! 
Whiz!  Goal!  .  .  .  It's  yours!  Take  it! 
Salvation,  full  and  free ! 

He  commences  to  wipe  the  sweat  from 
his  brow. 

BLISS  (quietly).     I  refuse  it. 

He  leaves  the  sweat  to  freeze  as  it  may. 
TRAIL.     You  —  what  ? 
BLISS.     I  do  not  desire  salvation,  thank  you  very  much. 

TRAIL.     But    you've     gotta!     You've     gotta!     You 
can't  give  all  that  money,  without  being  saved ! 

BLISS.     Then  I  will  find  some  other  way  of  serving  my 
beloved  little  damned. 

"And  she  sits  down  calmly,  awaiting  the 
brimstone. 

TRAIL.     Well,  I'll  be  ... 

DAFTY  skips  in,  and  catches  him  up; 
[86] 


DAFTY.  Yes,  but  before  you  are,  I'd  like  you  to  carry 
away  the  remembrance  of  a  few  trifling  wheezes 
by  myself.  You,  sir,  I  take  it,  are  a  funny 
man.  They  may  amuse  you.  They  may  amuse 
also  my  good  friends  in  the  Other  World. 

TRAIL.     Other  world!     What  other  world? 

DAFTY  (airily).  Oh,  both,  both!  The  infinitude  of 
them,  in  fact !  It's  all  One  to  me  ! 

TRAIL.     Who  is  the  lynx-eyed  prowler,  anyway? 
HODGE  (histrionically).     He's  only  a  poor  old  .  .  . 

DAFTY.  Not  so  softly,  Mr.  Timothy,  not  so  softly :  he 
mightn't  hear !  .  .  . 

Mr.  Timothy  was  about  to  inform  you  in  his 
delicate  way,  that  I  am  a  fool.  Well,  sir,  I 
am.  A  sort  of  professional  one,  like  yourself. 
I  don't  know  whether  you  happen  to  belong  to 
our  High  and  Ancient  Secret  Order;  but  I  im- 
agine not.  There  are  curious  initiations,  rather 
dangerous  —  fiery  ordeals,  sacrificial  burnings ! 
We  are  divided  into  two  lodges  —  my  own  af- 
filiations, I  leave  you  to  infer.  The  one  suckles 
its  folly  from  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent:  the 
other  .  .  . 

His  eyes  rest  for  a  moment  on  Miss 
BLISS. 

[87] 


from  the  innocence  of  the  dove.    The  Illustrious 
and  Sublime  Grand  Master  combines  both. 

TRAIL.  See  here !  You  can't  put  one  over  me,  by  that 
line  of  goods ! 

DAFTY.  Ah,  that's  precisely  what  the  acquisitive  little 
youth  in  the  chapel  said.  But  they  made  him 
eat  it,  all  the  same. 

TRAIL.     Say,  wash  the  marrer  with  you?     Eat  what? 

DAFTY.  A  confection,  sir.  My  own  making !  In  ap- 
pearance, a  fine,  sweet,  tasty  piece  of  huckle- 
berry pie ;  in  reality,  a  dose  of  calomel.  One  of 
my  little  jokes!  The  last  time  I  saw  him,  they 
were  stuffing  his  pennies  into  the  poor-box;  and 
heaving  him  heavenwards  with  one  of  the  flags. 
Tossing  the  blanket,  you  know ! 

WRAGG.     That's  how  you  let  them  treat  flags,  is  it? 
DAFTY.     Not  our  own,  sir!     Only  the  enemy's! 
HODGE.     Which  poor-box  was  that? 

DAFTY.  The  one  with  the  double-padlock,  Mr.  Tim- 
othy. 

LIMP.     And  that's  what  you  call  pies !     Calomel ! 

[88] 


DAFTY.  Only  for  bad  livers,  sir.  Anachronistic  mis- 
anthropists with  cantankerous  ones;  and  con- 
verted little  youths  of  trading  proclivities,  with 
white  ones. 

JULIA.  What  makes  you  so  fiendish?  You  seem  ob- 
sessed by  some  foul  spirit  of  perversity.  You're 
a  kind  of  nightmare ! 

DAFTY.  Just  a  joke,  ma'am!  It's  the  Secret  of  our 
Order.  I  can  feel  one  coming  on  me,  now! 
Lordy,  lordy,  He  can't  leave  me  alone !  He's 
a  rare  one  for  His  bit  of  fun,  our  Illustrious 
and  Sublime  Grand  Master! 

TRAIL.  And  who  is  your  Illustrious  and  Sublime 
Grand  Master,  anyway? 

DAFTY  (chuckling).     The  Holy  Ghost     Every  way. 
JULIA.     Stoker,  how  dare  you ! 

DAFTY.  Oh,  I  dare,  all  right !  That's  one  of  our  in- 
itiations. Daren't  you? 

JULIA.     This  is  infamous ! 

DAFTY.     Is  it?     I  thought  it  was  part  of  our  religion. 

JULIA.     Religion  doesn't  teach  people  to  make  comedy 
out  of  sacred  things ! 
[89] 


DAFTY.  Yours  mightn't!  It  taught  Saint  Francis! 
It  taught  the  thirteenth  century!  It  taught  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  Himself,  when  He  made  that 
little  joke  about  Dives,  and  the  u  great  gulf 
fixed."  And  when  He  put  that  pun  upon  Peter ! 
And  that  good  one  He  palmed  off  on  the  teeto- 
tallers, down  in  Cana  of  Galilee. 

TRAIL.     How  do  you  know,  your  interpretation  .  • ;  . 

DAFTY.  Ah,  you  see,  I'm  initiated!  I  found  out  a 
lot  of  things  like  that,  when  they  cracked  the 
third  chestnut,  down  in  the  Seventh  Circle ! 

HODGE.  Look  here!  /  belong  to  a  Secret  Society. 
I'm  treasurer.  How  did  a  fellow  like  you  come 
to  be  initiated? 

DAFTY.  A  little  accident,  Mr.  Timothy,. a  few  short 
years  ago.  When  I  was  in  the  world,  taking 
care  of  other  people's  money,  like  you. 

HODGE.     What  was  it? 
DAFTY.     I  died. 

They  look  at  him  with  amazement. 
TRAIL.     Say  that  again. 

DAFTY.     I  died. 

[90] 


TRAIL  ( ironically ) .     Anything  else  ? 

DAFTY.  Yes,  I  was  buried.  There  were  grand  ob- 
sequies. And  I  went  to  my  own  place.  Then, 
like  Lazarus,  I  came  forth. 

TRAIL.  Say,  have  you  the  nuhrve  to  stand  there,  and 
tell  me  flatly,  you  were  dead? 

DAFTY.  I'll  tell  you  something  to  scare  you  worse 
than  that!  I'm  alive. 

TRAIL.  See  here !  You  talk  about  coming  back  from 
the  grave.  Are  you  saved  or  damned? 

DAFTY.  Both!  Saved,  when  I  forget  myself,  and 
make  a  joke.  Damned,  every  time  I  begin 
thinking  about  my  soul. 

TRAIL.  You  can't  geraway  with  it,  that  way.  Have 
you  been  in  hell? 

DAFTY.  Frequently!  Lot  of  good  people  down 
there. 

TRAIL.     Well,  haven't  I  named  them? 

DAFTY.  Yes,  but  you  don't  properly  know  hell.  Not 
yet.  I  regret  to  disillusionize  you,  my  lurid  sir, 
but  you  really  paint  that  place  abominably. 


TRAIL.  I  mean  to.  I  guess,  your  hell  is  one  of  these 
high-brow  Fifth  Avenoo  gin-palaces,  with  feath- 
er-beds and  Selections  by  Paderewski  in  the  par- 
lour! My  hell's  something  fierce !  It's  smoke, 
and  sulphur,  and  bubbling  gulfs  of  fiuhr! 
Don't  that  paint  hell  properly? 

DAFTY.     No.     It's  worse !     And  absolutely  real  1 

TRAIL.  Say,  here's  a  knock-out!  What  brought  you 
down  there  ? 

DAFTY.  My  sins,  mostly.  Sometimes  —  other  peo- 
ple's. 

TRAIL.     If  you  call  that  theology,  I  don't! 
DAFTY.     Oh !     What  brought  Christ  there  ? 

HODGE.  Well,  I  ain't  orthodox,  I  ain't  dogmatic :  I'm 
just  plain  Baptist!  And  if  it's  your  outworn 
Catholic  Creed  you're  trying  to  ram  down  my 
throat  . 

DAFTY.  I'm  not !  It's  your  brand-new  Baptist  Bible. 
That  bit  of  Peter's  about  the  spirits  in  prison. 

BLISS.     What  sins  brought  you  there,  Dafty? 
DAFTY.     Do  you  mean  my  own?  .  .  . 
BLISS.     Yes, —  your  own. 

[92] 


DAFTY.  Humph !  I  don't  know  whether  they  will  all 
be  quite  respectable  to  confess,  in  the  presence 
of  so  many  of  the  saved.  You  see,  when  I  was 
on  earth,  I  wasn't  exactly  an  anybody.  I  was 
a  successful  man. 

HODGE.     Do  you  mean,  rich? 

DAFTY.  Stank  with  it !  —  Millions !  That  was  my 
first  big  sin  —  Theft !  Next,  I  built  great  pal- 
aces, and  squandered  myself  like  a  hog!  —  Lux- 
ury !  I  ground  the  faces  of  the  poor,  I  fattened 
upon  the  harlotries,  took  usury,  interest,  tene- 
ment rents,  grew  ruthless.  Then  came  Pride 
and  Vainglory,  and  all  the  swollen  Pomps  that 
follow  in  the  path  of  pitiless  Ambition.  And 
with  them,  uncharity  of  heart,  vile  rancour,  re- 
sentments, bitter  hate.  Well,  God  had  His  lit- 
tle joke  on  me  for  that.  He  brought  me  low. 

TRAIL.  Didn't  I  say?  That  comes  of  dying  without  a 
religion. 

DAFTY.  Oh,  but  I  didn't!  You  don't  remember,  but 
you  saved  me  yourself.  There  is  a  specially 
deep  hell  for  that.  Down  among  the  liars,  the 
abominations,  the  blasphemers !  After  my  con- 
version, my -other  sins  seemed  light.  But  they 
weren't!  Nor  their  punishment!  I  coveted 
my  neighbour'*s  goods,  his  powers,  even  his  vir- 
[93] 


tues!  I  grew  envious,  and  belittled  him!  I 
tried  to  desecrate  his  highest  gifts!  I  was 
present  at  the  surpliced  blessing  of  the  workers 
of  iniquity,  and  took  God's  Name  in  vain.  I 
have  cherished  the  dishonourable  deeds  of  my 
fathers,  and  made  their  honour  to  perish  from 
the  earth !  I  have  beclouded  my  nation's  glory 
in  a  glamour  of  empire-building.  I  have  be- 
smirched my  flag!  Last  of  all,  I  committed 
murder.  I  began  mildly,  in  my  own  fac- 
tories and  slums.  Then  I  fostered  pacific  occu- 
pation in  foreign  countries.  Then  I  went  in 
wholesale!  —  I  poured  my  billions  into  it! 
Then  —  I  died. 

TRAIL.     And  then? 

DAFTY.     Hell. 

TRAIL.     Didn't  that  make  you  berlieve  and  tremble? 

DAFTY.  I  trembled.  You  don't  believe  at  first.  You 
don't  know  you  are  there.  You  tremble  first, 
and  believe  afterwards. 

BLISS.     And  your  —  resurrection? 

DAFTY.     It  took  innumerable  ages.     You  don't  reckon 

ages  there,  as  you  do  here.     You  get  them  — 

wrong  end  of  the  telescope,  so  to  speak.     There 

I  lay,  outside  time,  beyond  space,  in  the  very 

[94]   ' 


bottom  of  the  pit,  pondering  my  sins.  They 
came  one  by  one,  each  with  its  own  pang,  until  I 
saw  them  —  real !  Then  I  had  to  name  them 
aright.  Did  you  ever  try  naming  your  sins 
aright?  I  did.  And  then  there  appeared  — 
the  Optical  Illusion !  .  .  . 

He  sees  it  again  in  his  imagination; 
It  was  an  Enormous  Eye ! 
JULIA.     An  Eye  ?  .  .  . 

He  fixes  her  like  a  basilisk,  and  then 
nods  his  head  once,  solemnly. 

DAFTY.  I  had  been  gazing  at  it  all  those  aeons,  and 
had  never  known  it.  I  mistook  it  for  the  sky. 
And  it  was  that  Watching  Dread.  And  at  last 
• —  it  winked  at  me. 

JULIA.     Winked!  .... 

DAFTY.  Yes !  Not  one  of  your  impudent  winks,  you 
understand;  but  a  real  friendly  Come-along- 
home  of  a  wink,  such  as  you  might  give  yourself. 
It  was  the  very  first  joke  I  ever  saw.  So  I  be- 
gan climbing.  And  was  initiated  from  that  mo- 
ment. 

There  flames  from  him  a  sudden  ecstasy 
of  white  fire; 
[95] 


Ah,  that  Golden  One!  She  shall  never  know 
those  dark  abysses !  For  her,  the  gladness  and 
the  rapture  only!  The  unending  Fun  among 
the  dancing  stars ! 

WRAGG.     Well,  I  wish  you  joy  of  her ! 

DAFTY.  It's  mine,  eternally!  Why,  her  wings  are 
sprouting  forth  already.  Her  eyes  are  daz- 
zling with  the  daylight  of  new  heavens !  She, 
out  of  all  the  young  awakening  world  can  see ! 
Lordy,  I  never  met  such  vision,  since  first  I 
started  making  spectacles ! 

OMNES.     Spectacles!     Did  you  make  spectacles? 

DAFTY.  Telescopes,  too !  And  microscopes !  Mi- 
croscopes so  powerful,  they  can  peep  into  the 
minutest  heartbeat  of  a  man!  And  telescopes 
to  search  the  farthest  heavens ! 
This  is  vainglory !  I  shall  be  damned  for  this. 
So  long! 

He  moves  to  the  Scullery  door.     There, 
he  turns. 

(Chuckling.)  Oh,  I  forgot !  That  little  youth, 
they're  entertaining  in  the  chapel !  Such  a  lark ! 

TRAIL.  Wharabout  him?  Cough  up  your  last  joke 
and  go ! 

[96] 


DAFTY.     He  tried  selling  hymn-books  to  them!     It's 
your  Johnny ! 

And  he  vanishes  rapidly. 

TRAIL.     My  Johnny,  tossed  to  heaven !     Here !     I'll 
revive  the  little  skunks  for  this ! 

He  bolts  through  the  Refectory  door. 

HODGE.     The    poor-box!     Chock    full!     And    him 
about ! 

WRAGG.     That  infamy  by  the  altar ! 

JULIA.     My  Algernon !     Among  those  ragamuffins ! 

They  bolt  also.  LIMP  is  left  sitting  in 
the  fireplace,  silent,  brooding. 

'After  awhile  Miss  BLISS  arises  as  from 
a  dream,  and  moves  slowly,  feebly  up 
the  right. 

BLISS.     How  cold  it  is ! 

She  picks  up  her  shawl  and  puts  it  on,  as 
when  she  first  appeared.  She  goes  to 
the  lectern,  turns  over  the  leaves  of 
the  Bible,  and  tries  to  read. 

I  cannot  see.     My  eyes  are  dim  with  tears ! 
[97] 


She  finds  and  fixes  her  spectacles.  Then 
she  reads; 

I  looked  on  all  the  works  that  my  hands  had 
wrought,  and  on  the  labour  that  I  had  laboured 
to  do:  and,  behold,  all  was  vanity  and  vexation 
of  spirit,  and  there  was  no  profit  under  the  sun. 

She  gropes  blindly  for  her  cane;  and 
then  totters  weakly  to  the  high-backed 
bench.  There  she  crumples  up,  a  lit- 
tle bent  thing,  her  hand  trembling. 
She  continues  so  for  a  moment. 
Then  glancing  across  the  fireplace,  she 
becomes  aware,  in  a  dazed  kind  of 
way,  that  LIMP  is  there. 

Why,  Job  Limp,  are  you  still  here  ? 

//  required,  the  Curtain  may  descend  at 
this  point. 


THE  END  OF  THE  THIRD  ACT 


[98] 


THE  FOURTH  ACT 

The  Scene  and  the  Situation  remain  unchanged. 
LIMP  still  occupies  the  faldstool:  Miss  BLISS,  the  high- 
backed  bench.  Her  hair  is  brown:  in  her  eyes,  there 
is  a  growing  alertness.  At  present,  however,  she  still 
sits  crumpled,  shawled  and  spectacled,  fumbling  at  her 
cane. 

LIMP.  Yes,  I'm  here.  Romping  with  ritualistic  in- 
fants offers  no  allurement  to  a  hobnailed  liver. 
There's  nothing  for  it  but  endurance  and  dam- 
nation. 

BLISS  (thoughtfully) .  Yes,  we  must  abandon  all  hope. 
Even  Dante  said  that. 

LIMP.     It's  not  as  if  there's  anything  one  can  do! 
BLISS.     I  wonder !    Of  course,  if  what  Dafty  said  .  .  . 
LIMP  (disgustedly).     Dafty! 

And  Miss  BLISS  sinks  deeper  into  her 
own  meditations. 
[99] 


BLISS.  I  suppose,  I  shall  occupy  eternity,  seeking  out 
all  the  little  damned  babies,  and  trying  to  cool 
the  tips  of  their  darling  tongues.  They  will  be 
doubly  orphaned  now !  .  .  . 

Anyhow,  He  can't  stop  me  loving  them ! 

She  considers   this,   steadily.     Then   a 
new  thought  dawns  upon  her; 

Job,  have  you  ever  yielded  to  the  dreadful  temp- 
tation of  doubt? 

LIMP.  It's  my  entire  philosophy.  The  moment  I'm 
shewn  anything,  I  doubt  it.  That  and  this  in- 
fernal torment  go  together. 

BLISS.     I  have  wicked  promptings,  too. 

LIMP.  He  talks  about  hell!  —  I'm  there  already! 
And  it  keeps  on  increasing!  Everlastingly! 
It's  for  all  the  world  like  quicklime  in  your 
back! 

BLISS.  Yes,  a  searching  fire!  Only  mine's  in  my 
heart. 

LIMP.  Oh,  Lord,  another  of  them!  I  suppose  he'll 
come  bellowing  his  ailments  next ! 

BLISS.     Who? 

[100] 


LIMP.     That  gospel-monger ! 

BLISS  (shocked).     Job!     If  He  should  hear  you! 

LIMP.     I'm  not  afraid  of  his  pitch  and  brimstone! 

BLISS  (fearfully).  Isn't  doubt  appalling?  It  puts 
such  frightful  thoughts  in  one's  head.  It  al- 
most makes  one  rebellious  against  Divinity  Him- 
self! .  .  . 

And  she  begins  probing  another  abyss; 

Job,  do  you  think,  perhaps,  Satan  may  have  been 
a  little  maligned?  Poor  thing,  he  may  be 
kinder  than  we  have  been  taught  to  believe. 
Less  brutal,  more  —  cultivated. 

LIMP.  He'd  be  an  improvement  anyway,  on  this  fel- 
low's scarecrow  of  a  god!  He  couldn't  be 
worse ! 

BLISS.  What  awful  things  you  dare  to  say!  I  was 
thinking  that,  also. 

LIMP.     Then  why  on  earth  don't  you  say  it? 
BLISS.     Oh,  I  couldn't !     I  wouldn't  dare !     Not  yet. 

LIMP.  Yes,  it's  people  that  daren't,  people  that  are 
afraid  of  hell,  who  keep  this  mountebank's  the- 
ology alive ! 

[101] 


BLISS.     But  I  wouldn't  quite  know  how. 

LIMP.  It's  perfectly  simple !  You  only  have  to  open 
your  mouth,  emit  a  few  forcible  words,  and  send 
shivering  to  oblivion  an  obviously  mendacious 
god. 

BLISS.     Do  you  mean  that  His  God  .  .  . 

LIMP.  I  mean  that  his  god  is  a  lie!  Whatever  gods 
there  may  or  may  not  be,  his  is  an  imposture. 

BLISS.  But  God  must  be  true !  Why,  I  have  known 
Him!  Oh,  Job!  .  .  . 

She  rises,  a  curious  gleam  awakening  in 
her  eyes. 

LIMP.     What  is  it  now? 

BLISS.  I  hardly  know!  All  sorts  of  queer  texts !  In 
my  mind !  .  .  . 

That  one  about  Satan  coming  as  an  angel  of 
light!  The  lying  spirits,  sent  to  deceive! 
That  fearful  one,  foretelling  false  Christs  and 
false  prophets,  to  seduce,  if  possible,  even  the 
elect ! 

LIMP.     Now,  you  are  going  beyond  me. 

[102] 


BLISS.  If  only  I  dared  to  believe  it !  If  only  I  dared ! 
Oh,  it  makes  me  hot  to  think  of  it ! 

She  removes  her  shawl.  LIMP  clutches 
his  back  in  agony. 

LIMP.     I'm  burning,  too!     It's  fire  unquenchable! 
BLISS  (anxiously).     Oh!  .  .  . 

She  sinks  back  timidly,  her  resolution 
wavering.  She  then  bends  forward 
with  the  confidential  air  of  a  conspira- 
tor. 

Didn't  you  think  His  trumpet  sounded  a  trifle 
coarse? 

LIMP.     Trumpet?  .  .  . 

BLISS.  Yes,  and  then  those  horrid  little  books !  And 
that  hymn !  One  expected  surprises ;  but  some- 
how .  .  .  The  Magnificat  was  so  much  more 
—  mannerly. 

LIMP.     It  was  his  clownish  attempts  at  humour  got  me ! 

BLISS.     Just  what  I  say!     Of  course,  Saint  Francis 
was  a  funny  man.     So  was  Brother  Juniper. 
But  it  wasn't  all   about   football.     They  had 
quite  a  number  of  ideas  in  the  dark  ages. 
[103] 


Didn't  you  imagine  too,  that  He  would  be  more 
of  a  —  well,  it  isn't  exactly  a  nice  word  nowa- 
days —  but  more  of  a  gentleman? 

LIMP.     What!  .  .'•".  '• 

BLISS.  In  the  old-fashioned  sense,  I  mean:  the  sense 
of  chivalry.  When  there  were  gentlefolk. 

LIMP.     Well,  aren't  some  of  us  that  now? 

BLISS.  Oh,  yes,  in  a  way.  But  I  mean  —  really.  In 
the  thirteenth  century  way,  for  instance.  When 
we  were  gentle;  and  of  the  folk.  I  remember 
Dafty  once  telling  me  that  the  last  grace  of  a 
woman  was  to  be  a  good  gentleman.  I  took  it 
for  a  joke  at  first:  I'm  afraid  I'm  rather  slow. 
But  after  I  had  meditated  a  few  days,  I  found  a 
great  truth  in  that  remark.  Woman's  honour 
is  not  enough.  I  have  striven  to  be  a  good 
gentleman,  ever  since. 

LIMP  (growling).  Yes,  Dafty  would  say  a  thing  like 
that! 

BLISS.  Wouldn't  he?  Sometimes,  he  reminds  me  of 
Saint  Francis.  He's  so  comical. 

LIMP.     Lot  he  knows  about  gentlemen! 

BLISS,     Oh,  but  indeed,  he  does!     You  mustn't  sup- 

[104] 


pose,  because  he's  sometimes  solemn,  that  he's 
modern.     He's  really  perfectly  out  of  date. 

LIMP.  Well,  so  am  I.  But  you  don't  find  me  crack- 
ing jokes.  And  I  live  entirely  in  the  past. 

BLISS      But  shouldn't  we  make  the  past  live  in  us? 
LIMP.     Whatever  are  you  driving  at? 

BLISS.  Just  that,  Job.  We  should  make  the  past 
alive.  That's  one  way  of  reanimating  the  dead 
and  dying  present  —  the  gentleman's  way. 
Then,  there  is  that  better  way,  the  workman's 
—  bringing  the  future  to  birth,  today.  And 
best  of  all,  the  saint's !  —  To  dwell  unceasingly 
in  life  eternal. 

LIMP.  Well,  I  don't  understand  saints.  And  I'm  not 
interested  in  workmen. 

BLISS.  The  thirteenth  century  gentleman  was.  He 
helped  them  to  Magna  Charta. 

LIMP.  Yes,  and  look  at  their  gratitude !  They  have 
brought  our  class  to  beggary ! 

BLISS.  Messer  Bernard  didn't  mind.  He  beggared 
himself,  embracing  holy  poverty. 

LIMP.  A  gentleman  must  have  house  and  food  and 
raiment. 

[105] 


BLISS.  Saint  Francis  went  in  tatters,  feasted  on  bread 
and  water,  and  housed  himself  in  wattles. 

LIMP.  What  about  our  young  girls,  our  delicately- 
nurtured  women,  ladies?  .  .  . 

BLISS.  The  Holy  Lady  Clare  was  a  young  girl,  deli- 
cately-nurtured. 

LIMP.  Hang  it  all,  I'm  no  modern !  —  But  we  must 
allow  some  difference  between  ourselves  and 
the  thirteenth  century. 

BLISS.  That's  what  Fm  saying.  There  is  a  differ- 
ence. A  difference  of  ideal.  I  wonder  why  it 
should  be  just  that  one. 

LIMP.  You  think  it  is  because  they  had  a  different 
gentleman  ? 

BLISS.     I  think  it  is  because  they  had  a  different  God. 
LIMP.     Look  here!     What's  coming  over  you? 

BLISS.  I  don't  know.  Something  curious  has  been 
happening  to  me  ever  since  I  began  —  question- 
ing, just  now.  My  mind  seems  to  be  awaken- 
ing. It  is  as  clear  as  it  was  when  I  was  a  woman 
of  thirty-five.  I  am  beginning  to  see  again. 
Yes,  I  see  quite  .  .  . 

What  am  I  doing  with  these  things  on? 
[106] 


And  she  takes  of  her  spectacles.     She 
then  looks  at  him  keenly. 

Why,  bless  me!     How  old  are  you,  Job? 
LIMP.     Forty-five!     And  feel  like  Methuselah! 

BLISS  (thoughtfully).     Yes,  those  extra  ten  years  tell, 
don't  they? 

LIMP.     It  isn't  the  years!     It's  liver!     And  it  grows 
worse,  when  I  don't  get  exercise !     Ugh ! 

He  rises,  pressing  his  back,  and  begins 
doddering  away. 

BLISS.     Poor  Job !  .  .  . 

Here,  take  my  cane.     Let  me  help  you. 

She  jumps  up  briskly  and  trips  towards 
him. 

LIMP.     I'm  not  an  octogenarian !     Nonsense!  .  .  . 
Well!     Such  .  .  . 

Treating  a  man  of  forty-five,   as  though  he 
were  .  .  . 

He  takes  the  cane,  refusing  her  arm, 
with  a  grunt.     He  then  crawls  pain- 
[107] 


fully  to  the  eastern  window.  Miss 
BLISS  watches  him  from  the  middle 
of  the  Hall 

What  a  disgusting  day!     Nothing  but  clouds! 

I'd  feel  better  if  there  were  a  speck  of  sky  in 
the  universe!  But  I  doubt  it! 

BLISS.     Try  doubting  the  clouds,  Job. 

LIMP.     Don't  try  that  metaphysical  piffle  on  me.     I'm 
too  old. 

HODGE  enters  from  the  Refectory.  He 
appears  woe-begone,  his  face  puffy 
and  puckered;  and  moves  with  the 
heavy  lassitude  of  a  fat  man  inwardly 
flustered. 

HODGE.     Oh,  my  heart !     Ready  to  burst !     I'm  age- 
ing fast! 

LIMP  makes  a  noise  like  a  snarling  dog. 

All  very  well,  saying  Wow!  I'd  swop  my  heart 
for  your  liver,  any  day!  That  last  lap  round 
the  cloisters  has  added  twenty  years  to  my  life. 
Little  tripehounds! 

BLISS.     Why,  what's  the  trouble,  Timothy? 

[108] 


HODGE.  Trouble!  Your  blighted  orphans  are  the 
trouble !  Especially  that  yellow  hussy  with  the 
pink  legs!  Pack  of  unregenerate  heathens, 
that's  what  they  are ! 

BLISS.  Come,  Timothy,  I  can't  have  my  children 
calumniated.  They  are  baptized  members  of 
the  Holy  Catholic  Church. 

HODGE.  Yes,  that's  the  mischief!  Baptizing  babies 
in  long  clothes,  before  they  have  the  sense  to 
know  their  own  carnal  minds.  Not  a  seven- 
year-old  in  my  Sunday  School  don't  know  better 
than  that! 
Lord!  .  .  . 

He  tumbles  into  the  chair }  panting. 

LIMP  (testily).  You've  evidently  something  to  say. 
Stop  blowing,  and  say  it! 

HODGE.  You  nurse  your  liver!  My  complaint's  the 
star  turn  now ! 

You  haven't  a  drop  of  anything  handy,  have 
you? 

BLISS.     Why,  certainly. 

She  dances  to  the  table.     He  moistens 
his  mouth  expectantly. 
[109] 


HODGE.  If  it  hadn't  a-been  for  that  darned  football 
I'd  never  have  been  caught.  They  was  all  in- 
side the  chapel,  hullabalooing  with  Tommy. 
Then  that  old  resurrected  corpse  must  needs 
come  jigging  out  for  the  football;  and  he  sicked 
the  kids  on  me. 

Miss  BLISS  has  accomplished  her  errand 
of  mercy.     She  offers  him  a  glass. 

BLISS.     There !     That  will  refresh  you ! 

Licking  his  lips,  he  lingers  fondly  before 
tasting. 

HODGE.     I  wouldn't  a-minded,  if  that  yellow  one  — 
with  her  blamed  spiky  elbows  .  .  . 
What  is  it? 

BLISS.     Water. 

HODGE.     One  thing  on  top  of  another!     Here!  .  .  . 
He  hands  it  back  again. 

Ain't  you  got  nothing  interesting  in  the  house? 
Something  really  —  wet? 

BLISS.     Surely !     Cocoa ! 

Inspired  by  that  bright  idea,  she  begins 
hastening  away. 
[i  10] 


HODGE.     Cocoa !  .  .  . 

Stop !     It's  no  use !     I'd  rather  die.     We  all 
got  to  go  some  day. 

LIMP.     Ugh ! 

HODGE.     Yes,  you  too !     Old  groggy  liver ! 

Miss  BLISS  returns  the  glass  to  the  table. 

LIMP.  What  I'd  like  to  know  is,  what  were  you  doing 
in  the  chapel  porch,  alone? 

HODGE.     That's  my  business. 

LIMP.  Yes,  I  know  it's  your  business !  But  how  much 
did  you  make  on  the  deal? 

HODGE.  If  you  think  the  price  of  a  few  hymn-books 
can  pay  me  for  that  rat-hunt  round  them 
cloisters,  you're  dead  off  it!  Lanky  little  line- 
prop  ! 

LIMP.     Cracksman!     Picking  padlocks ! 

HODGE.  You  didn't  have  to,  see !  The  boxes  in  this 
place  have  mouths  like  .  .  . 

It's  comfort  I  want !     Water  ain't  no  comfort, 
and  nothing  in  it. 

[in] 


He  works  his  features  like  a  desirous 
babe.  Miss  BLISS,  who  has  been 
studying  him  closely,  now  comes  down 
to  him. 

BLISS.  Timothy,  what  have  you  been  doing  with  the 
poor-box  ? 

HODGE.     Didn't  say  I'd  done  nothing,  did  I? 
BLISS.     Precisely !     That's  why  I  ask. 

HODGE.  What  are  you  nagging  me  for?  Don't  you 
know  I'm  a  dying  man? 

BLISS.  Wouldn't  you  wish  to  make  restitution  before 
you  go? 

HODGE.  What's  wrong  with  you?  This  ain't  your 
character.  I  don't  kind  of  recognize  you,  when 
you  get  suspicious.  What's  happening  to  the 
world  ? 

BLISS.  I  think  perhaps  I  am  becoming  saved,  Timothy. 
There  are  certain  Christian  graces  I  have  neg- 
lected. The  wisdom  of  the  serpent.  Doubt, 
enquiry,  investigation.  I  am  even  hoping  to 
see  jokes  shortly. 

Come,  Timothy,  give  it  to  me. 
[112] 


HODGE.  You'd  better  ask  that  dancing  skin  and  bones, 
you  call  your  Golden  One !  What  more  right 
has  she  to  it,  than  me?  She  got  it  all!  Some 
of  my  own,  too ! 

BLISS.     Ah!     Then  it  is  safe,  in  her  hands. 

HODGE.  Why  more  than  in  mine !  Thievery,  I  call 
it! 

BLISS.  There  are  honest  thieves  and  dishonest  ones, 
Timothy. 

HODGE.  Never  could  understand  what  you  saw  in  that 
child,  anyway!  One  of  these  days  you'll  be 
finding  her  out,  and  wishing  you'd  picked  some- 
body more  —  ordinary.  Mind,  I'm  telling  you 
as  your  friend. 

BLISS.     Those  pennies  belong  to  God's  poor,  Timothy. 

HODGE.  There  you  go  again!  /  ain't  got  them! 
That  little  baggage  stripped  me  of  my  utter- 
most farthing!  This  comes  of  going  about 
half-naked,  and  Roman  Catholic  practices ! 

BLISS.     God's  poor,  Timothy! 

HODGE.     Well,  the  poor  don't  always  get  what's  com- 
ing to  them!     They  can't  expect  it!     Not  in 
an  age  of  enlightenment  and  free  competition. 
["3] 


BLISS.     Some  of  them  are  starving,  Timothy. 

HODGE.  You  don't  know  nothing  about  it.  This 
ain't  a  question  for  school-ma'ams !  It's  a  ques- 
tion for  hard-headed  men  of  business !  You  go 
back  to  your  thirteenth  century,  and  entertain 
yourself. 

BLISS.  Yes,  we'd  have  to  go  back  quite  some  way  for 
entertainment. 

HODGE.     Ain't  we  entertaining? 

BLISS.     I  suppose  we  are.     In  a  grim  kind  of  fashion. 

HODGE.  Well,  if  we  ain't  funny,  we  have  our  com- 
pensations ! 

BLISS.     Such  as  .  .  .   ? 

HODGE,  Such  as !  What  about  our  monster  factories, 
our  skyscrapers? 

BLISS.  What  about  the  mediaeval  gilds,  the  great 
cathedrals? 

HODGE.     Consider  our  educational  institutions ! 
BLISS.     Consider  theirs ! 

HODGE.     What     did     they     produce?     A    pack    of 
monks !     Look  at  our  thinkers,  scientists,  states- 
[114] 


men,  captains  of  industry !  I  could  holler  a  few 
names  now,  in  this  very  place ;  and  they'd  jump 
up  like  Jack-in-the-boxes ! 

BLISS.  Look  at  Thomas  Aquinas,  Roger  Bacon,  King 
Louis  the  Saint  of  France,  the  nameless  masters 
of  the  Crafts! 

HODGE.  I  don't  know  the  parties,  but  they  simply 
weren't  in  it  with  us!  Look  at  the  things  we 
done!  Locomotives,  electric  light,  ocean 
liners,  aeroplanes !  —  not  to  mention  subma- 
rines !  Do  you  happen  to  know  how  many 
bushels  of  wheat  the  United  States  alone  ex- 
port annually?  How  many  gallons  of  oil? 
Tons  of  silver,  pig-iron?  I  don't  myself;  but 
it's  something  cruel!  Don't  that  indicate  effi- 
ciency? Ain't  we  the  right  to  call  ourselves  the 
most  astounding  century  in  all  history?  I  tell 
you  now,  as  I  told  my  young  Baptists  many  a 
time :  we're  the  human  limit !  And  we  deserve 
every  penny! 

BLISS.     Not  at  the  expense  of  God's  poor,  Timothy. 

HODGE.  I'm  talking  business,  I  tell  you !  The  poor 
got  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it ! 

BLISS.     They  had  in  the  thirteenth  century. 

HODGE.     The  thirteenth  century  is  dead. 

[H5] 


BLISS.     Then  may  it  rise  again,  and  scourge  us  for 
our  sins! 

The  wild  shrieking  of  a  woman  is  heard 
outside. 

LIMP.     What  in  the  name  of  ...     Are  we  suddenly 
going  to  resolve  ourselves  into  a  Greek  tragedy  ? 

BLISS.     Yes,  it's  exactly  like  the  prelude  to  a  kommos. 

The  cries  now  mingle  with  the  groaning 
of  a  man,  followed  by  "  Damn,  damn, 
damn!" 

That  doesn't  sound  like  Sophocles ! 

HODGE.     Sounds  like  Pomeroy  and  Julia  to  me.     She'll 
pass  on  some  day,  with  them  hysterics ! 

The  lamentations  continue,  and  come 
nearer. 

LIMP.     This  suspense  is  getting  on  my  nerves! 

WRAGG  and  JULIA  make  parados  from 
the  Refectory,  wailing  threnodically. 
They  create  a  small  orchestra  out  of 
the  middle  of  the  Hall,  circling  it  with 
anguished  pantomime;  and  then 
stand  tragically  opposite  each  other. 
[116] 


HODGE  edges  away  to  the  left:  Miss 
BLISS  to  the  right. 

JULIA.  Algernon's  safe:  he  overslept  himself:  he 
lives!  But  I  am  perishing! 

WRAGG.  I  am  but  a  bag  of  bones !  One  stark  decrep- 
itude ! 

JULIA.  I  have  put  on  thirty  years  in  thirty  minutes! 
A  year  a  minute ! 

WRAGG.  I've  put  on  fifty :  Tommy,  hundreds !  He's 
an  ancient  monument !  A  cairn !  A  pyramid ! 

JULIA.  The  horrors  I  have  witnessed!  I  have  wit- 
nessed sacrilege!  Hymn-books,  bibles,  a  man 
of  God  and  footballs,  all  jumbled  up  together ! 

WRAGG.     I  have  seen  flags  desecrated ! 

JULIA.  I  have  beheld  iniquity !  I  have  looked  upon 
dreams  of  the  night ! 

WRAGG.  If  they  had  only  shewn  discrimination;  but 
they  would  not! 

JULIA.  We  many  times  attempted  extrication ;  but  we 
could  not! 

WRAGG.     That  last  race  round ! 


JULIA.     The  ignominy  of  it ! 

WRAGG.     The  pickaback ! 

JULIA.     The  jump-frog! 

WRAGG.     That  leaping  wild-cat  with  the  bony  knees ! 

JULIA.     My  rumpled  raiment !     My  dishevelled  hair ! 
and  as  for  him!  .  .  . 

WRAGG.     Yes,  as  for  him!  .  .  . 

BLISS.     Why,  what's  the  matter  with  him? 

They  both  wheel  to  the  right,  simultane- 
ously. 

BOTH.     Matter!  .  .  . 

JULIA.     They're    playing    football   with   him    in    the 
chapel ! 

HODGE.     Didn't  he  scatter  them? 

They  both  wheel  to  the  left. 
BOTH.     Scatter!  .  .  . 

WRAGG.     You  should  have  seen  that  last  great  scrim- 
mage at  the  altar ! 

[118] 


JULIA.     They  got  him  down!     They  pummelled  him 
all  over! 

WRAGG.     They  whacked  him  with  the  ball,  and  made 
him  yell ! 

JULIA.     He  threatened  them  with  death :  he  mentioned 
hell! 

WRAGG.     But  that's  not  all!     They  found  another 
game ! 

BLISS.     What  did  they  call  it? 

They  wheel  to  the  right  as  before. 
BOTH.     Horse  and  wagon!  .  .  . 
WRAGG.     He  was  the  horse,  and  they  hung  on  behind. 

JULIA.     They  danced,  .bare-legged!     And  then  that 
shocking  show ! 

HODGE.     What  shocking  show  might  that  be? 

They  wheel  to  the  left. 
BOTH.     Saint  and  Dragon !  .  .  . 

JULIA.     That  little  yellow  horror  yoked  him  to  her 
girdle,  and  made  him  tamely  crawl! 


BLISS.     Ah!     Saint  Margaret!     Saint  Margaret! 
JULIA.     Another  painted  him  in  red  and  blue  and  gold  1 
BLISS.     Saint  Gertrude ! 
WRAGG.     He  romps  and  roars ! 

JULIA.     He  grinds  his  teeth!     He  has  torn  candles 
from  the  altars,  and  trampled  on  them ! 

WRAGG.     He  foams,  he  wallows!     He  wraps  him- 
self in  flags ! 

JULIA.     And  worse  than  that !     Far  worse ! 
BLISS  (breathlessly).     What?     What?  .  .  .  ' 

JULIA.     They've  stuck  a  tail  upon  him,  dipped  him  in 
the  font,  and  named  him  Father  Devil! 

BLISS.     Oh,  glorious  Gothic  Centuries!     Risen  from 
the  grave  at  last ! 

WRAGG.     What !     You  condone  it ! 
JULIA.     You  advocate  profanity! 

HODGE.     You've  done  it!     I  knew  you'd  go  too  far! 
This  comes  of  Orphanages  instead  of  Lucifer ! 

JULIA.     You  —  nun !     You  childless  infidel !     Do  you 
dare  .  .  . 

[.20] 


WRAGG.  Have  you  the  naked  impudence  to  main- 
tain .  .  . 

There  are  heard  howls  of  childish  de- 
rision, rapidly  increasing  in  'volume. 
They  listen  silently.  Then  LIMP 
goes  to  the  eastern  window. 

LIMP.     My  God !  .  .  . 

HODGE.     What  is  it?     Good  Lord!  .  .  . 

He  has  joined  him  at  the  window. 

LIMP.  Look!  And  the  hailstones  rattling  down  like 
ostrich  eggs! 

There  is  a  rumbling  of  thunder  and  the 
clatter  of  hail,  the  laughter  pealing 
through  it  like  a  clash  of  chimes. 

BLISS.  Oh,  my  army!  My  little  army!  The  army 
with  banners!  I  faltered,  I  fell  by  the  way- 
side! But  they,  my  babies,  my  beloved,  they 
have  kept  the  faith ! 

JULIA  (apprehensively).     Is  he  coming? 
LIMP  (grimly).     Like  an  apocalyptic  beast! 

JULIA  goes  completely  of  her  head. 

[121] 


JULIA.  He  is  coming!  He  is  coming!  He  will  tear 
us  all  to  pieces !  Quick!  Pomeroy!  Turn  on 
the  machine!  It  may  soothe  the  evil  spirit  in 
him,  as  Thingumabob  soothed  What-do-you- 
call-him ! 


WRAGG,    with    what   celerity    he    may, 
limps  to  obey. 


JULIA.  Look  to  yourself  now,  Mary  Bliss !  This  is 
the  end  of  everything!  He  will  come  like  a 
ravening  dragon! 

BLISS  (crossing  herself  calmly).  In  the  Name  of  the 
Father  and  of  the  Son  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
I  will. 

And  the  Hymn  of  the  Beast  blares  forth. 

TRAIL  rages  in  from  the  Refectory. 
His  football  suit  is  all  disordered,  but 
the  stripes  shew  well.  His  face  is 
painted  red  and  blue  and  gold,  faith- 
fully portraying  the  devil  as  imagined 
—  and  buffooned  —  under  the  pa- 
tronage of  Mother  Church  in  the 
mystery  plays  of  the  unenlightened 
ages.  He  is  furnished  with  a  tail. 
He  has  lost  his  voice;  and  can  only 
express  himself  that  way,  in  hoarse 
and  almost  inarticulate  gibberings. 

[122] 


He  is  not  at  a  loss,  however.  His 
pantomime,  which  Is  plentiful,  and 
dlthyramblc,  reveals  his  meaning. 
And  the  hymn  helps  tl  some" 

They  make  wide  room  for  him,  as  he 
staggers  to  the  middle  of  the  Hall. 

TRAIL.  I've  lost  my  voice!  I'm  done!  I'm  a 
dead-beat!  I'm  a  stiff!  Wow!  Dough- 
nuts! .  .  . 

He  performs  a  tortured  cake-walk,  mak- 
ing tracks  for  HODGE.      That  worthy 
flies. 

HODGE.  Don't  you  come  near  me !  I'll  pay  up ! 
Oh! 

He    gambols    JlJLlA-wards,    grimacing 
horribly. 

JULIA.     Oh!     Save  me,  somebody!     I'm  a  mother! 

She   scuttles,    screaming,    behind   Miss 
BLISS.     TRAIL  veers  for  POMEROY. 

WRAGG.  Don't  maul  me!  I'm  Pomeroy  Wragg! 
Oh! 

TRAIL    dodges    him    round    the    chair. 
This  shews   of  his   tall  to   fine  ad- 

[123] 


vantage.     Also,    the    legend    on    his 
back:  MISTER  TRALE  HAS  A  TALE. 

HODGE.     Well,  that's  funny ! 

His  laughter  rouses  the  dragon  in  his 
wrath. 

TRAIL.  Funny!  Here,  where's  my  brimstone? 
Wow!  Curitout!  Laugh,  you  bric-a-bracs ! 
Keep  sunny,  will  you!  Smile!  Smile!  Smile! 
The  devil  will  get  you!  Hell!  Hell!  Hell! 
Mothuhr!  Fathuhr!  Terruhr!  Wow!  Stop 
that  blasted  wheezing-machine ! 

He  has  been  dancing  like  a  dervish  all 
the  while,  chasing  first  one,  then  an- 
other of  them  around  the  Hall. 
Now,  foaming  and  impotent,  he  falls 
to  the  ground,  gnawing  at  the  chair 
like  an  inspired  revivalist.  The 
talking  machine  ceases. 

BLISS.     Oh!     Oh!     Oh!  .  .  . 

And  she  goes  of  into  hymns  of  youthful 
laughter. 

TRAIL  (grovelling).  What  the  earthly  tabernacle  are 
you  sunny  over? 

[124] 


BLISS.  A  Thing  immortal,  indestructible,  eternal  in 
the  heavens !  A  Thing  not  builded  by  earthly 
hands !  A  Thing  against  which  the  gates  of 
hell  shall  not  prevail!  Oh!  I  am  becoming 
initiate !  I  see  the  joke ! 

JULIA.     He  will  destroy  us!     Are  you  mad? 

BLISS.  Beyond  recovery!  Oh,  Illustrious  and  Sub- 
lime Grand  Master,  receive  me  now! 

TRAIL.  Cackling  won't  get  you  there !  Berlieve,  you 
mutt! 

BLISS.  I  will,  unfalteringly!  I  will  clothe  myself  in 
readiness!  Worthy  or  unworthy  now,  I  will 
apparel  me,  as  a  witness !  Not  in  my  own 
righteousness !  His !  His ! 

JULIA.     Mary  Bliss !     Think  of  the  Day  of  Judgment. 

BLISS.  I  do,  undoubtingly !  Oh,  I  have  been  faith- 
less! I  have  betrayed  my  Master!  I  have 
hearkened  to  the  voice  of  Anti-Christ,  and  the 
hosts  of  hell!  My  Lord,  I  come!  I  come! 
I  come!  .  .  . 

And,  like  one  of  her  own  girls,  she 
bounds  up  the  stairway,  two  steps  at 
at  a  time,  light  as  a  feather,  and  van- 
ishes. 

t»$] 


They  stand  looking  after  her  in  con- 
sternation. The  thunder  rumbles. 
TRAIL  lies  prone  on  the  floor,  blas- 
phemous, biting  the  dust.  He  has 
been  brought  to  Jesus  at  last.  It  is 
perhaps  the  beginning  of  his  salva- 
tion. Salvation  "as  by  fire."  So  be 
it.  In  the  Name  of  Christ,  Amen. 

If  required,  the  Curtain  may  descend  at 
this  point. 


THE   END  OF  THE   FOURTH   ACT 


[126] 


THE  FIFTH  ACT 


The  Scene  and  the  Situation  remain  unchanged. 
JULIA  and  WRAGG  are  on  the  right:  LIMP  and  HODGE, 
left.  TRAIL  still  cherishes  the  floor.  Stif,  motionless, 
they  face  the  stairway :  then  all  begin  babbling  together. 

LIMP.  f  What's  the  matter  with  the  woman?  Has 
she  gone  clean,  stark,  raving,  ecstatically 
mad? 

JULIA.  She's  gone  upstairs  to  do  something  des- 

perate!    They  can't  blame  me!     I'm  abso- 
lutely innocent ! 

HODGE.  \  She's  an  anarchist!  She's  capable  of 
bombs!  She's  capable  of  burning  bunting! 

WRAGG.  She'll  take  a  dose  of  strychnine!  I  could 
see  it  in  her  eye!  This  comes  of  fool  in- 
vestments ! 

TRAIL.  Lynch  the  petrified  Babylonian !  She's  the 
you-know-what  from  Revelations ! 

They  cease  suddenly.     There  is  a  pause. 
Then  TRAIL  rasps  hoarsely. 

Don't  let  her  geraway  with  it!     Rat  her  out! 
[127] 


LIMP. 

JULIA. 

WRAGG 

HODGE. 

TRAIL. 


DAFTY. 

OMNES. 
HODGE. 


That's  right!     We  must  stop  her! 
We'll  put  her  in  a  padded  cell! 
-     If  it's  nitro-glycerine  .  .  . 

She'll  be  rattling  by  the  time  we  ... 
Biff!     Gee!     Whiz!     Rah-rah-rah! 

And  In  football  formation,  led  by 
TRAIL,  they  rush  for  the  stairway. 
They  halt  abruptly;  for  there, 
heralded  by  crackling  thunder  and  in 
a  glare  of  lightning,  appears  DAFTY, 
guarding  the  way. 

He  is  marvellously  changed.  Clad  in 
school-made  kilt  and  corselet,  bare- 
toed  with  greaves,  ridge-capped  and 
mantled;  he  bears  a  ludicrous  re- 
semblance to  a  Giovanni  Pisano  arch- 
angel. He  holds  himself  erect,  his 
young-old  face  gleaming  with  ironic 
glee.  In  his  hand,  uplifted,  is  a  toy 
sword. 

Back,  back,  blasphemers! 
Why!     It's  only  Dafty! 

In  them  pageant  togs,  I  told  you  of. 
[128] 


Reassured,  they  rally,  and  make  another 
dash.     There  is  more  thunder. 

DAFTY.     Stand  back,  or  else  this  flaming  sword  .  .  . 

They    obey    unconsciously.     He    con- 
tinues, mysteriously. 

It  is  of  wood !  It's  name  is  Makebelieve !  It 
can  work  miracles !  I  forged  it  for  the  Golden 
Child,  last  June  !  Her  mark's  upon  it! 

Magnetized,   though   they   don't   know 
why,  they  edge  away.     All  but  LIMP. 

LIMP.     This  pontifical  mummery  may  impress  priest- 
ridden  brats !     I'm  not  one. 

DAFTY.     Then  for  you,  I  bear  another  charm! 
LIMP.     I  doubt  it ! 

DAFTY.     It  will  set  you  smarting,  when  it  once  begins. 
LIMP.     Fiddlesticks!  .  .  . 

But  he  hobbles  to  a  safe  distance. 

What  brings  you  back,  I'd  like  to  know?  I 
thought  you'd  done! 

DAFTY.     I  was  sent! 

[129] 


LIMP.  What  muddle-headed  jester  wished  you  on  us 
again  ? 

DAFTY.     One,  you  doubt. 

JULIA.  Tell  us  the  plain,  unvarnished,  utterly  paltry 
truth !  Where  did  you  come  from  ? 

DAFTY.     The  lower  heavens.     I've  been  climbing. 

HODGE.  Well,  I  think  if  I'd  climbed  that  far,  I'd 
a-gone  a  mile  further ! 

DAFTY.  Even  you  couldn't!  Something  is  in  the 
way!  Descending!  And  it's  coming  nearer, 
every  moment! 

HODGE.    What?  .  .  . 

LIMP.     Hailstones,  you  ass ! 

DAFTY.     Armageddon. 

HODGE.     That  means  the  war,  don't  it? 

DAFTY.     The  final  one. 

WRAGG.  That's  a  dream!  There'll  be  war  as  long 
as  there's  a  flag  left  on  earth. 

DAFTY.     That  is  true ! 

[130] 


WRAGG.     Very  well  then !     Let's  prepare! 

DAFTY.     To    the    uttermost    farthing!     Now    that 
there's  this  new  army  entering  the  field. 

WRAGG.     Do  you  mean  the  United  States  ? 

DAFTY.     I  mean  this  new  army,  descending  now,  out 
of  the  skies. 

WRAGG.     Some  vast  aeroplane  scheme,  eh?    What! 
Today's  news? 

DAFTY.     Yesterday's.     It's  so  old  people  don't  be- 
lieve it. 

WRAGG.    What  flag? 

DAFTY.     No  flag.     It  is  an  army,  fair  as  the  moon, 
clear  as  the  sun,  with  symbols  more  terrible. 

WRAGG  (hotly).     What  symbols? 

DAFTY.     Banners. 

HODGE.     I  don't  see  no  difference. 

DAFTY.     You  will,  when  the  danger's  over.     In  the 
Millennium. 

WRAGG  (excitedly).     Now,  keep  to  your  story!     No 
Utopian  babblings! 


DAFTY.  Well,  that's  the  story,  if  you  could  only  grasp 
it.  I  hold  a  secret  commission  under  that  army. 
I  simply  have  to  babble.  I'm  a  spy. 

OMNES.     Spy!  .  .  . 

LIMP  has  been  listening  intently.     He 
now  advances,  and  says  ironically. 

LIMP.  Let's  get  a  little  clear  light  on  this,  my  man. 
Something  uncompromising  and  in  the  open. 
This  flagless  army  you  crack  up  so  valiantly! 
Which  of  the  Powers  does  it  represent? 

WRAGG.  You've  got  him,  Job!  Which  of  the 
Powers? 

DAFTY.     The  Powers  Supernal. 
HODGE.     Never  heard  of  them. 
WRAGG.     I  have.     They  are  on  our  side. 
LIMP.     Shut  up !  ... 

He  again  addresses  DAFTY. 

I  perceive  you  are  a  faithful  spy  —  diplomat, 
even!  —  You  conceal  your  secrets  by  a  jest. 
Did  you  find  any  more  little  jokes  up  there? 

DAFTY.     Five  little  ones.     One  screamer. 

[132] 


LIMP.     And  —  the  screamer? 

DAFTY  (bowing).     The  obligations  of  my  Order  will 
not  yet  permit  me  to  announce  it. 

LIMP  (suavely).     Might  we  trouble  you  to  regale  us 
with  the  five? 

DAFTY  (more  so).  It  will  afford  me  infinite  pleasure. 
In  those  dizzy  altitudes  I  found  the  evil  liver 
discomfitted  and  brought  to  naught.  The 
gross  heart  given  over  to  its  own  fatness.  Envy 
and  malice  turned  to  suicidal  dreams  and  foul 
inventions.  Nations  weighed  in  the  balance 
and  found  wanting.  Lastly,  I  found  Darkness 
professing  itself  the  Light;  and  the  Light  suf- 
fering it  to  be  so  for  a  season. 
Do  we  get  it  over? 

TRAIL  creeps  to  the  fireplace  on  all 
fours,  and  crouches  there,  chewing  his 
tail,  contemplatively. 

Ah! ... 
TRAIL  (under  his  breath).     Weasel-eye! 

HODGE.     Here,  let  me  come!     Wait  a  moment!  .  .  . 
He  winks  violently  at  everybody,  im- 
plying that  he  has  a  poser. 

How  did  you  manage  that  climb? 
[133] 


DAFTY.  Don't  wink  so  clamorously,  Mr.  Timothy. 
You've  scared  away  the  thunder. 

HODGE.    Eh?  .  ,  . 

He  gapes  about  him  in  meteorological 
amaze. 

TRAIL  (05  before).     That  isn't  funny! 

DAFTY.  As  for  that  story  you  desire  so  eagerly,  it 
has  a  double  meaning.  I  fear,  as  a  tired  busi- 
ness man,  you  .  .  . 

The  sound  of  distant  music  arrests  his 
attention. 

Ah !  —  The   Chopin  Funeral  March !     I  had 
that  played  over  me,  you  know,  when  /  .  .  . 
Pity,  it's  a  bit  too  late ! 

WRAGG.  It's  eleven!  That  was  the  time.  They'll 
be  passing  here  in  ten  minutes. 

DAFTY.     Ten  will  do  me  nicely. 

Something  in  his  emphasis  rivets  them. 
The  music  melts  away.  There  is 
heard  only  the  far-off  beating  of  the 
muffled  drums. 

Beautiful!  .  .  . 

[134] 


LIMP.     Never  mind  that  infernal  Memorial  Service! 
Get  on  with  your  allegory ! 

DAFTY  (airily).     Ah,  yes,  my  late  ascension! 
HODGE.     Now  for  a  whopper ! 

DAFTY.  Whopper's  the  word,  Mr.  Timothy !  I  was 
never  so  thunderstruck  in  my  life ! 

I  don't  know,  lucrative  sir,  how  far  your  studies 
may  have  led  you  into  the  Science  of  Optics. 
But  the  marvellous  discovery  I  have  just  made 
in  that  realm  of  light  up  yonder  .  .  . 

HODGE.  Hold  on,  now !  Power  and  Light's  my  busi- 
ness, I'd  have  you  know.  Lucifer  .  .  . 

DAFTY.  Ah,  then  you'll  appreciate!  My  dear  sir, 
you're  bankrupt!  Lucifer's  bankrupt!  That 
gigantic  enterprise  aloft  there  is  about  to  revo- 
lutionize all  earthly  business! 

HODGE.     Impossible ! 

DAFTY.  Supremely !  —  Simply  cannot  fail !  I  di- 
vined that,  the  moment  I  cleft  the  clouds. 

HODGE.  Yes,  but  how  did  you  get  there?  That's 
what  I  want  to  know! 


DAFTY.  There's  the  point !  —  The  Light !  I  con- 
nected with  the  very  first  gleam,  and  was  trans- 
mitted in  a  twinkle. 

HODGE.  Course,  I  know  Science  can  do  very  queer 
things.  Why,  in  my  own  trade  —  you  wouldn't 
believe !  But  there  it  is ! 

DAFTY  (urbanely).  The  pragmatic  proof,  Mr.  Tim- 
othy! 

HODGE.  Just  what  I  always  tell  them !  What  I  say 
is,  with  Science  all  things  is  possible.  But 
some  of  these  young  fellows  think  they  know 
everything!  . 

Course,  if  this  discovery  of  yours  has  any  sub- 
stantial .  .  . 

DAFTY.     My  dear  sir,  it's  Substance  Itself! 
HODGE  (quickly).     I'll  take  an  option  on  the  first  .  .  . 
DAFTY  fixes  a  demonic  gaze  upon  him. 

DAFTY.  Gently,  Mr.  Timothy!  The  first  shall  be 
last,  you  know ! 

HODGE.  Come  now,  we  know  all  about  that!  — 
What's  your  game?  Well?  Spit  it  out! 

DAFTY.     I  admit  a  difficulty.     The  necessary  limita- 
tions   of   human    spittle  .  .  .  Then,    too,    the 
[136] 


abstruse  optics  of  it  —  metaphysics,  even  .  .  . 
You  see,  it  isn't,  as  I  at  first  conjectured,  merely 
that  One  Eye !  There  are  the  others !  Mil- 
lions, quadrillions!  The  universe  is  swarming 
with  them ! 

HODGE  (bewildered).     Millions  of  eyes? 

DAFTY.  Infinitudes !  Peeping,  spying,  everywhere 
—  eternally.  We  have  dreamed  ourselves  un- 
seen, hidden  away,  buried  in  the  darkness  of 
unfathomable  graves !  And  all  around  us,  that 
world  of  deathless  light!  Eyes!  They  are 
about  us  now !  Their  glances  are  a  fusilade  of 
gimlets ! 

JULIA.     Eyes!     You're  mad!     You  lie! 

DAFTY.  Precisely  my  words,  Ma'am!  Nicholas,  I 
said,  you're  a  liar,  and  the  father  of  liars! 
But  we're  wrong!  Blasphemously,  devilishly 
wrong.  If  there  were  to  be  any  more  time, 
I'd  prove  it!  But  there  are  only  seven  short 
minutes!  .  .  . 

She  gasps,  but  he  continues  relentlessly. 

We  can't  escape  them,  those  formidable  eyes! 
They   crowd,    they   thicken   upon   us!     Every 
moment!     You  can't  escape  them!     You  par- 
[i37] 


ticularly   can't!     They   are  probing,   pricking, 
piercing,  stabbing  to  your  very  vitals ! 

JULIA.     Oh !     Horrible ! 

DAFTY.  Oh,  I  don't  know!  Nice  little  eyes!  And 
when  one's  motives  are  so  blameless!  .  .  , 

HODGE  (dubiously).     What  kind  of  things  are  they? 

DAFTY.  Inquisitive  kind,  Mr.  Timothy.  They 
search  the  deepest  part  of  you !  They  search 
the  very  pockets !  You  might  call  them  petty 
pilferers!  Or  again,  policemen!  Or  even  — 
angels !  And  microscopically  small. 

HODGE.     Well,  your  ideas  remind  me  ... 

DAFTY.  Exactly!  Out  of  the  garnered  treasures  of 
your  Baptist  learning,  you  would  recall  that 
ancient  gibe  against  the  sacred  teachings  of 
Aquinas!  Well,  they  can!  Myriads  of  them 
can  perch  upon  the  point  of  a  very  small  pin! 

HODGE.     Angels  on  a  pin! 

DAFTY.  Listen!  I'll  demonstrate  it,  in  precisely  — 
six  minutes  time !  Come,  one  last  flutter  before 
the  aeons!  How  much  will  you  bet? 

HODGE.     Bet!     I'm  a  deacon! 

[138] 


DAFTY.     Now,  Mr.  Timothy,  be  a  sport ! 

HODGE.     No,  I'll  be  damned  first! 

DAFTY.     That  will  be  too  late !     By  then  .  .  . 

WRAGG.  Look  here !  Keep  to  the  point !  First,  it's 
armies  in  the  clouds:  then,  optics!  You  de- 
liberately sweep  aside  .  .  . 

DAFTY.  Sweep  aside!  It's  identically  the  same 
story ! 

WRAGG.  Same  story!  What  in  the  name  of  logic 
have  optics  to  do  with  .  .  . 

DAFTY.  You  amazing  mole!  How  do  you  imagine 
the  hosts  of  darkness  and  damnation  are  being 
dispersed?  By  your  sharpshooting?  Or  by 
Living  Eyes?  Eyes  are  part  of  the  battle 
yonder!  Is  it  possible  I  am  obscure?  .  .  . 

Come,  let  me  amplify  a  little.     There  are  yet 
—  five  minutes !     Those  Eyes  .  .  , 

LIMP.     Oh,  damn  your  Eyes ! 

DAFTY  (like  a  serpent).     Not  mine  exclusively,  sir! 
They  are  at  the  service  of  the  entire  creation. 
Including  if  I  mistake  not  —  you !  .  .  . 
[i39] 


For  LIMP  stands  frozen,  pierced  as  it 
were  by  instant  icicles.  DAFTY 
watches  him  a  moment,  and  then  says 
slowly. 

They  search  everybody. 

The  silence  is  broken  only  by  the  dis- 
stant  pulsing  of  the  drums. 

Don't  they,  Tommy? 
TRAIL.     They  can  search  me ! 

They  do:  like  red  hot  needles.  He 
squirms. 

JULIA    (passionately).     How  do   I  know  it's  true? 
How  do  I  know  you  are  not  lying? 

DAFTY.     What !     Beginning  to  stab  you,  too  ? 

She  writhes  beneath  his  gleaming  eye. 
HODGE.     Look  here !     I'll  take  that  bet ! 
DAFTY  (quickly).     How  much  can  you  shew? 
HODGE.     How  much  do  you  say? 

DAFTY.     How  much  have  you  got? 

[HO] 


HODGE.     I  ... 

He  claps  his  hand  to  his  pocket,  and 
pauses  abruptly.  The  drums  have 
never  ceased. 

Name  yours ! 

DAFTY  (slowly).     Eternity. 
HODGE.     What's  your  joke? 
DAFTY.     Four  minutes ! 
HODGE  (fiercely).     Name  your  figure! 

DAFTY.  You're  a  ready  reckoner,  Mr.  Timothy. 
Multiply  a  myriad  of  angels  by  the  number  of 
pins  you  have  saved;  and  divide  everything 
you  have  stolen  among  the  poor. 

HODGE.     That's  queer  arithmetic ! 

He  calculates  it,  grasping  at  his  heart. 
The  drums  are  still  beating. 

WRAGG  (explosively).  What's  the  matter  with  flags, 
I'd  like  to  know? 

DAFTY.     You,  mainly,  Pomeroy !     You  and  Timothy. 

WRAGG.     And  what  about  you  ? 

[Hi] 


DAFTY.     I'm  guarding  them,  if  you  only  knew. 

WRAGG  (bitterly).  I  didn't  start  this.  What  of 
Julia? 

DAFTY.     She's  dying. 

HODGE   (similarly).     What  of  Job? 

DAFTY.     He's  dead. 

LIMP.     Dead,  am  I?     I'll  shew  you  whether  I  . 

DAFTY.  Don't  you  know  it?  Or  do  you  want  more 
slaughter,  to  drive  the  lesson  home? 

LIMP.     I  ... 

DAFTY.     Three  minutes ! 

LIMP.     I  .  .  * 

DAFTY.  It  has  been  a  long  debate,  Sir  Gentleman, 
notably  contested.  If  you  will  pardon  the  pun 
—  the  Eyes  have  it ! 

And  like  a  skilled  fencer,  in  perfect 
form,  he  pinks  him  neatly  in  the 
brisket. 

Sleep  now,  little  weapon.     Work's  over. 

He  returns  it  gravely  to  its  scabbard. 
[142] 


TRAIL.     Ha !     Makebdieve  I 

DAFTY  (esoterically) .     Ah,  it  has  another  name  for 
the  initiate ! 

TRAIL.     What? 

DAFTY.     Mzkebelieve. 

HODGE.     Sounds  the  same  to  me. 

JULIA.     After  all,  what  is  it?     Just  the  weapon  of  a 
silly  little  child ! 

DAFTY.     And  you,  a  mother !     That's  all  it  has  to  be ! 
My  Golden  One  knows  that. 

LIMP  susurrates  a  last  crumbling  word. 

LIMP.     And   Timothy!     And    Pomeroy!     Are    they 
dead,  also? 

DAFTY.     We  shall  learn,   shortly.     When  the   Con- 
ference sits. 

HODGE  and  WRAGG  both  whisper  to- 
gether. 

BOTH.     Which  Conference?  .  .  . 

DAFTY  does  not  answer.     He  is  reckon- 
ing something. 


DAFTY.     Two!  .  .  . 

The  Funeral  March  is  heard  again,  far 
of.  But  it  is  approaching  nearer, 
every  moment. 

How  are  you  getting  on,  Tommy? 
TRAIL.     Burning!  .  .  . 

DAFTY.     The  torments  of  the  saints  you  slandered, 
Tommy ! 

TRAIL.     Thirsty!  .  .  , 

DAFTY.     The    beer    you    libelled,    Tommy!     God's 
beautiful  beer ! 

TRAIL.    Stiff!  .  .  . 

DAFTY.     Your  lecherous  ideas  on  dancing,  Tommy! 
Legs,  you  know! 

TRAIL.     Ugliness!  .  .  . 

DAFTY.     Your    repudiation    of    art,    theatres:    your 
ghastly  hymns ! 

TRAIL.     Sticky !     It's  like  molasses ! 

DAFTY.     Home,  sweet  Home !     Mother !     Close  the 
shutters,  Willie's  dead! 
[H4] 


TRAIL.  Bitterness!  Black  wrath  curdling  up  out  of 
the  pit  of  my  belly ! 

DAFTY.  That's  your  god,  Tommy!  Vomit  him, 
brother !  And  serve  the  Living  Christ ! 

TRAIL  (utterly  surprised) .     But  I  do !     I'm  saved ! 

DAFTY.  Not  yet,  Tommy.  You  don't  know  it;  but 
you're  in  hell. 

TRAIL  (growling) .     What  do  you  know  about  hell ? 

DAFTY.  Why,  Tommy,  you  savvy  that!  Don't  I  be- 
long? 

HODGE.  One  thing  I've  wanted  to  know  for  some 
time.  Who  are  you? 

DAFTY.  An  instrument.  Optically  speaking,  the 
wrong  end  of  the  telescope.  I'm  that  Other 
Side,  you  know :  that  Outer  Darkness !  —  Only, 
of  course,  it's  all  One,  really.  Do  I  make  my- 
self—  luciferous? 

TRAIL.  That's  no  answer.  What's  your  name? 
Your  family  connections?  How  do  you  pass 
your  time? 

DAFTY.     I'm    the    devil,    Tommy.     God's    naughty 
brother.     Passing  from  hell  unto  salvation. 
[H5] 


TRAIL.     Thirteenth  century  doctrine,  I  guess! 

DAFTY.  No,  fourth,  this  time.  And  not  a  doctrine, 
Tommy!  A  pious  opinion  of  the  Fathers  that 
composed  the  Creed.  Ah!  .  .  . 

He  is  reckoning  again.     A  long  pause. 
One!  . 

He  stands  at  attention,  ceremonially 
placing  his  closed  fist  to  his  brow. 
Then  he  speaks  with  intense  solem- 
nity. 

Brethren  and  fellow  sinners!  My  Illustrious 
and  Sublime  Grand  Master  bids  me  announce 
His  last  and  greatest  joke. 

They  gaze  at  him  in  deepest  horror. 
Then  they  all  gasp  fearfully. 

OMNES.     What? 

DAFTY.     The  Kingdom  of  Heaven. 

They  are  all  standing.  The  stillness 
of  doom  descends  upon  them.  The 
Funeral  March  swells  to  a  reverber- 
ant roar,  as  the  procession  passes  by 
the  Orphanage.  The  sound  de- 
creases. 


Miss  BLISS  appears  below  the  Window 
of  the  Angel  of  the  Resurrection. 
She  is  like  a  girl,  glorious  with  im- 
mortal youth.  Her  eyes  flame  mir- 
acles of  radiant  joy;  her  dark  hair 
streaming  loosely  from  her,  as  though 
blown  by  some  unearthly  wind.  She 
is  clad  in  robes  of  the  blessed  resur- 
rection}  and  bears  in  her  hand  a  small 
lamp  burning. 

She  descends  half  way  down  the  stair- 
way. 

BLISS.  Awake!  Awake!  Awake,  ye  dreaming 
dead!  He  is  come !  His  chariots  are  thunder- 
ing at  the  gates !  The  long  dark  night  is  pass- 
ing away!  It  is  morning!  He  is  making  all 
things  new!  Ye  dead,  awake!  Awake!  .  .  . 

The  music  crashes  into  triumph,  and 
wails  away  again. 

The  kingdoms  of  this  world  and  the  glories  of 
them  are  no  more !  They  are  cast  down,  they 
are  demolished,  they  are  utterly  overthrown! 
And  in  the  place  that  knew  them,  there  is  risen 
the  Empire  of  the  Lord  our  God!  Gloria  in 
excels  is!  .  .  . 

The  mourners  shall  no  longer  weep !     He  shall 
[i47] 


wipe  away  all  tears!  Lo,  the  mighty  hosts  and 
the  multitudes  of  them,  numberless,  with  ban- 
ners streaming!  He  is  the  resurrection  and  the 
life  immortal!  Gloria!  Gloria!  .  .  . 

The  labourer  shall  no  longer  eat  his  bread  in 
bitterness!  He  shall  toil  for  very  sweetness 
of  man's  joy  therein;  and  he  shall  gather  where 
he  sowed ;  and  none  shall  say  him  nay !  Beauty 
shall  abound;  and  in  the  hearts  of  all  men, 
deathless  love !  Gloria!  Gloria!  .  .  . 

The  pomp  and  blasphemy  of  ruthless  war  is 
done  away!  It  whirls  to  dust,  it  sobs  into  ob- 
livion like  a  shuddering  wind!  The  swords 
are  broken!  The  plough-shares  are  at  the 
beating!  Gloria  in  excelsis  Deo!  And  on 
earth  —  Peace !  .  .  . 

The  music  now  comes  rattling  through 
the  Hall  like  thunder. 

.Crumble,  ye  sepulchres!  Break  through  your 
prison-bars,  ye  living  dead!  Cleanse  you  of 
your  sin !  Put  away  from  you  the  accursed 
thing !  The  Lord  is  at  hand !  Arise  and  meet 
Him!  Lazarus,  I  say!  Lazarus,  come  forth! 

The  music  cracks  suddenly,  like  a  heart 
in    mid-throbbing.     From    it    there 
emerges   one  clear  note  of  seraphic 
[148] 


sweetness,  long  continued.     It  grows 
in  'volume. 

A  flood  of  sunshine  pours  in  from  the 
eastern  window,  bathing  the  Hall  in 
light.  Up  in  the  Gothic  arches,  like 
winged  cherubim,  there  are  fluttering 
beams.  The  Window  of  the  Angel 
of  the  Resurrection  becomes  a  blaze 
of  everlasting  gold. 

In  the  Name  of  the  Father  and  of  the 
Son  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  Amen. 


THE   END  OF  THE   PLAY 


[149] 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


100m-8,'65(F6282s8)2373 


AT  mi  r 


THE 
ftflTE  HOUSEII 
fll  FRANCISCO 


